HEW    BOOKS 

BY 
FANNY     FERN 


I.  ~  FOLLY  AS  IT  FLIES        .         PRICE  $1.50 

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TIL  —  CA'PER-SAUCE         .        .  $1.50 


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postage,  on  receipt  of  price, 

BY 

Carleton,  Publisher, 
New  York. 


CAPEE-SAUGE: 


A  VOLUME  OF  CHIT-CHAT 


ABOUT 


MEN,    WOMEN,    AND   THINGS. 


BY 

FANNY    FERN, 

AUTHOR    OF 

"FOLLY  AS  IT  FLIES,"    " GlNGER-SNAPS,"    "FERN  LEAVES,"   ETC. 


NEW    YORK: 
G.    W.    Carleton    6?   Co.,    Publishers. 

LONDON:    S.    LOW,   SON   &  CO. 
M.DCCC.LXXII. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1872,  by 

G.   W.   CARLETON  &  CO., 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


Stereotyped  at  the 

WOMEN'S     PRINTING     HOUSK, 
66,  58  and  00  Park  Struct, 
Now  York. 


SK  XCUSE  me.  None  this  time.  There  have 
already  been  too  many  big  porticos  before 
little  buildings. 

FANNY  FEKN. 
NEW  YOKE,  1873. 


Ml'24961 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Editors 9 

My  Notion  of  Music 16 

"Budding  Spring"— In  the  City 20 

A  Peep  at  Boston 23 

BlackwelTs  Island 29 

Shall  we  have  Male  or  Female  Clerks  ? 37 

Unknown  Acquaintances 40 

Life  and  its  Mysteries 44 

Mrs.  Washington's  Eternal  Knitting 47 

The  Woman  Question 50 

Two  Kinds  of  Wives. 55 

Undertakers'  Signs  on  Churches 58 

A  Voice  from  the  Skating  Pond 61 

The  Sin  of  being  Sick 64 

Are  Ministers  Serfs  ? 69 

Blaming  Providence  for  Our  Own  Faults 72 

A  Chapter  on  Nurses 74 

Do  American  Women  Love  Nature  ? 78 

Rainy-day  Pleasures 82 

Chit-Chat  with  Some  of  My  Correspondents 84 

My  Liking  for  Pretty  Things 92 

Unsought  Happiness 95 

Dignity  of  Human  Nature 100 

All  About  Doctors 104 

Letter  to  Henry  Ward  Beecher . ,108 

The  Amenities  of  the  Table ,,,,,.,.,..,..,......  Ill 

Many  Men  of  Many  Minds  ..............................  115, 

My  Notion  of  a  Walking  Companion. 118 

Men  Teachers  in  Girls'  Schools 121 

My  Call  on  "  Dexter" .125 

The  Poetry  of  Work. 128 

Can't  Keep  a  Hotel 132 


8  Contents. 

PAGE 

New  Clothes ., 136 

How  I  read  the  Morning  Papers 139 

Betty's  Soliloquy 143 

My  Dreadful  Bump  of  Order 146 

"Every  Family  Should  Have  It" 153 

Getting  to  Rights 157 

Modern  Martyrs 163 

Writing  "Compositions" 168 

Nice  Little  Tea-Parties 173 

A  Sleepless  Night 176 

Women's  Need  of  Recreation 180 

The  Good  Old  Hymns ..185 

A  Stranger  in  Gotham 189 

My  Journey  to  Quebec  and  Back  Again 191 

Idle  Hours  at  Our  Own  Emerald  Isle,  the  Gem  of  the  Sea. .  215 

Some  City  Sights 223 

Dog-days  in  the  Mountains 229 

Spring  in  the  City 235 

Waifs 238 

Tact 240 

The  Infirmities  of  Genius 242 

A  Trip  to  the  Caatskills 245 

The  Trip  to  Brompton 258 

Lake  George  Revisited 264 

Cookery  and  Tailoring 269 

Up  the  Hudson 273 

"Why  Don't  I  Lecture" 278 

In  the  Cars 281 

Petting 284 

My  Grievance 287 

Cemetery  Musings ". 290 

The  Scrubbing-brush  Mania 292 

Sauce  for  the  Gander 295 

My  First  Convert 298 

Country  Housewives 300 

First  Morning  in  the  Country 303 

Conscience  Killing. 306 

The  Cry  of  a  Victim 308 

Stones  for  Bread. . .  .311 


CAPER-SAUCE. 


EDITORS. 

AM  not  disposed  to  pity  Editors.  On  the 
whole,  I  think  they  have  a  very  good  time. 
That  national  sugar-plum  for  American 
boys,  "  Maybe,  my  son,  you  will  be  one  day  Presi 
dent"  might  be  changed  advantageously  for  "  My 
son,  you  may  live  some  day  to  be  an  Editor."  As 
for  the  present  President,  if  he  can  sleep  o'  nights, 
he  can  live  through  anything  !  I  repeat  it,  Editors 
have  a  good  time,  no  matter  what  they  say  to  the 
contrary.  In  the  first  place,  I  know  that  the  posi 
tion  of  an  editor,  if  honorably  filled,  is  second  to  none 
in  this  country.  He  need  envy  no  one  his  influ 
ential  power;  would  that  in  many  cases  it  were 
more  conscientiously  wielded.  If  an  Editor  is  an 
ignorant  man,  it  is  his  own  fault,  no  matter  from 
what  small  beginnings  he  may  have  risen.  Coming 
in  contact,  as  he  does,  with  information  every  in 
stant,  on  all  the  absorbing  topics  of  the  day,  it  is 
next  to  impossible  he  should  not  be  well  informed. 
Read  he  must,  whether  he  will  or  not.  Think  on 


iO  Editors. 

what  he  has  read  he  must ;  tell  his  subscribers,  in 
words,  what  he  thinks  about  it,  and  reflect  and  de 
cide  upon  the  submitted  thoughts  of  others  for  his 
columns,  he  must.  Hence  the  mind  of  an  Editor 
is,  or  may  be,  a  perfect  Encyclopedia  of  informa 
tion. 

Of  course  he  has  his  peculiar  botherations;  it 
would  be  a  blessing  if  his  subscription  list  were 
large  enough  for  him  to  say  just  what  he  pleases 
right  and  left,  without  fear  or  favor.  It  would  be 
a  blessing  if  his  subscribers  would  always  pay 
punctually,  without  dunning.  It  would  be  a  bless 
ing,  when  he  uses  superhuman  efforts  to  please 
them,  if  they  never  would  find  fault  or  grumble,  for 
the  sake  of  grumbling.  It  would  be  a  blessing  if 
they  wouldn't  stay  so  long  when  they  come  in  to 
see  him  "just  a  minute,"  and  he  is  in  a  frenzied 
hurry  to  say  do  go,  and  can't.  It  would  be  a  bless 
ing  (to  those  who  apply)  if  he  could  publish  and 
pay  for,  at  the  valuation  of  the  writers,  all  the  im 
mortal  trash  that  is  offered.  It  would  be  a  blessing 
if  other  editors,  "  who  can  see  nothing  in  his  paper," 
wouldn't  steal  his  articles  constantly — editorial  and 
contributed — without  credit. 

But,  on  the  contrary,  how  came  that  beautiful 
bouquet  on  his  desk  ?  "Where  that  fine  engraving 
on  his  office  wall  ?  How  came  that  beautiful  pic 
ture  and  convenient  inkstand  there  ?  I'd  have  you 
to  know  that  the  donors  have  not  always  an  axe  they 
wish  to  grind  in  that  office.  I  dare  say  you  will  try 
to  make  me  believe  that  Editors  are  human.  Now 


Editors.  11 

I  deny  that,  for  I  myself  have,  in  past  days,  had 
evidence  to  the  contrary.  But  never  mind  that 
now.  You  may  tell  me  that  Editors  are  not  above 
the  weakness  of  publicly  and  slyly  slipping  in  a  good 
word  for  a  good  friend,  when  he  needs  it,  and  that 
they  are  not  above  giving  a  bad  "  friend  "  a  good, 
satisfying  dig  when  he  needs  it,  and  so  would  you. 
If  a  man  is  to  be  overhauled  for  that,  there's  got  to  be 
a  monstrous  overturning  of  matters  in  other  places 
beside  Editors'  offices.  I  confess  I  sometimes  covet 
the  quantities  of  books  he  accumulates  free  gratis 
for  his  library,  and  I  should  like  to  be  allowed  to 
review  some  of  Jem  after  a  fashion  of  my  own,  if 
nobody  knew  who  did  it ;  and  I  should  like  occa 
sionally  to  dust  their  horrible  desks  for  the  poor 
creatures,  and  open  those  hermetically  sealed,  win 
dows,  and  advise  them  not  to  make  themselves 
prematurely  bald  by  wearing  their  hats  in  their 
offices,  week  in  and  week  out,  as  if  it  were  necessary 
their  ideas  should  be  kept  warm  like  chickens  in 
order  to  hatch. 

Only  that  I  am  convinced  that  everybody  must 
work  in  his  own  way,  and  that  if  Editors  had  to 
work  in  a  clean  place,  they  couldn't  work  at 
all.  Now  if  they  opened  their  office  windows  of  a 
hot  day,  they  might  possibly  be  cooler,  and  a  cool 
Editor,  in  times  like  these,  when  all  the  fire  and 
fury  we  could  master  would  not  begin  to  express 
our  national  emotions,,  you  see  for  yourself  the 
thing  wouldn't  be  tolerated.  Beside,  some  of  them 


12  Editors. 

ought  to  be  getting  used  to  a  hot  place,  and  they 
might  as  well  begin  now. 

I  wonder  are  Editors  aware  of  how  much  import 
ance  is  their  Poet's  corner  !  I  wonder  if  they  know 
that  the  most  inveterate  pursuer  of  brooms  and 
gridirons  that  ever  kept  a  good  man's  house  tidy, 
likes  a  bit  of  sentiment,  in  that  shape,  in  the  family 
paper.  I  wonder  do  Editors  know,  how,  when  the 
day's  work  is  done,  she  likes  to  pull  that  paper  out 
from  some  old  tea-caddy,  or  broken  flower-pot — that 
long  ago  fell  into  disuse,  and  seating  herself  with  a 
long-drawn  breath  of  relief  in  the  old  fashioned 
chair,  where  all  her  Tommys  and  Marys  have  been 
rocked,  give  herself  up  to  the'  quiet  enjoyment  of 
its  pages.  Presently,  as  she  reads,  a  tear  gathers  in 
her  eye  ;  she  dashes  it  quickly  away  with  an  "  ah — 
me,"  and  laying  her  head  back  upon  the  chair,  and 
closing  eyes  that  were  once  much  bluer  than  now, 
she  is  soon  far,  far  away  from  the  quiet  home  where 
her  treadmill  round  of  everyday  duties  has  been 
for  many  years  so  faithfully  performed,  and,  per 
haps,  alas  !  so  thanklessly  accepted.  The  cat  comes 
purring  round  her  feet,  and  Tray  comes  scratching 
at  the  door,  but  she  does  not  move,  till  the  sound  of 
a  heavy  and  familiar  footstep  is  heard  in  the  entry 
or  hall ;  then,  starting  up,  and  taking  her  scissors 
from  the  long  pocket  at  her  side,  she  clips  the  pre 
cious  verses  from  the  paper  and  hides  them  in  her 
bosom.  Perhaps  you  might  turn  up  your  critical 
nose  at  those  verses  ;  never  mind,  they  have  touched 
her  heart ;  and  many  times,  when  she  is  alone,  sho 


Editors.  13 

will  read  them  over ;  and  so  long  as  they  hold  to 
gether,  she  will  keep  them  in  a  little  needle-case  in 
her  work-box,  to  read  when  "  things  go  wrong,"  and 
a  good,  safe  cry  will  ease  the  heart. 

Her  good  man  picks  up  the  mutilated  paper,  and 
she  says,  "  It  was  only  a  bit  of  poetry,  John."  Now, 
there  are  more  Johns  than  one  in  the  world,  but  he 
don't  think  of  that,  as  turning  to  some  political  arti 
cle  he  says,  "  Oh,  you  are  quite  welcome  to  all  that 
sort  of  stuff ; "  nor  does  he  know  how  much  that 
other  John  had  to  do  with  her  crying  over  those 
verses,  which  somebody  certainly  must  have  written, 
who,  like  herself,  had  married  the  wrong  John. 

Now,  gentlemen  Editors,  crowd  what  else  you 
may  out  of  your  papers,  but  don't  crowd  out  the 
poetry r,  or  think  it  of  small  consequence.  Take  the 
affidavit  of  one  who  has  seen  the  clipped  verses  from 
your  papers  hid  away  in  pocket-books,  tucked  away 
in  needle-cases,  speared  upon  pin-cushions,  pinned 
up  on  toilet  glasses,  and  murmured  over  in  the 
mystic  hour  of  twilight,  just  before  "John  comes 
home  to  tea  ;  "  and  always  have  a  bit  of  poetry  in 
your  columns  for  her  who  has  so  potent  a  voice  in 
the  choice  of  a  family  paper.  I  publicly  promulgate 
this  bit  of  wisdom,  though  I  am  very  well  aware  that 
you  will  pass  it  off  for  your  own,  and  neither  credit 
me  nor  my  book  for  it ! 

A  word  on  a  practice  too  common  in  some  news 
papers.  I  refer  to  the  flippant  manner  in  which  the 
misfortunes  and  misdemeanors  of  certain  classes, 
brought  to  the  notice  of  our  courts,  are  reported  for 


14  Editors. 

the  amusement  of  the  community  at  large.  Surely, 
it  is  melancholy  enough  that  a  drunken  mother 
should  be  picked  up  in  the  gutter  with  her  uncon 
scious  babe ;  or  a  young  girl,  scarcely  in  her  teens, 
be  found  guilty  of  theft;  or,  that  a  husband  and 
father  should  beat  or  murder  her  whom  he  had 
sworn  to  cherish,  without  narrating  it  after  this 
heartless  fashion.  For  instance : 

John  Flaherty,  after  beautifully  painting  a  black  and  blue 
rim  round  his  wife's  eyes,  was  brought  into  court  this  morning 
to  answer  the  question  why  he  preferred  that  particular  color ; 
and  not  being  able  to  give  a  satisfactory  reason  for  the  same,  he 
was  treated  to  a  pleasant  little  ride  to  a  stone  building,  where 
he  was  accommodated  with  a  private  room,  board  and  lodging  in 
cluded. 

Or  thus : 

Mary  Honoria,  scarlet-lipped,  plump,  and  sweet  sixteen,  be 
ing  fond  of  jewelry  on  her  pretty  person,  and  having  stolen  her 
mistress's  watch,  was  waited  upon  by  a  gallant  policeman,  who 
escorted  her  little  ladyship  into  court,  in  the  presence  of  an  ad 
miring  crowd,  before  whom  her  black  eyes  sparkled  with  a  rage 
that  but  added  new  beauty  to  their  lustre. 

Now,  I  protest  against  this  disgusting,  demoral 
izing,  and  heartless  mention  of  the  sins  and  follies 
of  poor  wretches,  the  temptations  of  whose  lot  are  as 
the  sands  of  the  sea-shore  for  multitude ;  who,  ill- 
paid,  ill-fed,  worse-lodged,  disheartened,  discour 
aged,  fall  victims  to  the  snares,  in  the  shape  of  low 
groggeries,  set  for  them  by  the  very  men  who  laugh 
over  their  well-spread  breakfast  tables,  at  this  piti- 


Editors.  15 

ful  and  revolting  recital  of  their  success.  Ok,  write 
over  against  the  poor  wretch's  name,  as  God  does, 
why  he  or  she  fell !  or  at  least  cease  making  it  the 
subject  for  a  jeer.  Make  it  your  son,  your  daugh 
ter,  and  then  pen  that  flippant,  heartless  paragraph 
if  you  can.  And  yet,  it  was  somebody's  son,  or 
daughter,  or  sister,  or  husband,  unworthy  it  may  be, 
(who  is  not  ?)  but  alas  !  often  forgiven,  and  still 
dearly  loved,  to  whose  home  that  paragraph  may 
come  like  a  poisoned  arrow,  wounding  the  innocent, 
paralyzing  the  hand  which  was  powerless  enough 
before  to  struggle  with  its  hapless  fate ;  for  not  on 
the  guilty  does  such  blight  fall  heaviest.  The  young 
boy — the  toiling,  unprotected  daughter — the  aged 
mother-^ah !  what  if  they  were  yours? 


ABOUT  DOCTORS. — "We  wish  doctors  could  ever 
agree.  One's  head  gets  muddled,  reading  their 
books  on  health,  by  antagonistic  opinions  on  the 
same  subject,  from  eminent  sources.  Experience  is 
an  excellent  doctor,  though  he  never  had  a  diploma. 
What  is  good  for  you,  you  know  is  good  for  you  al 
though  it  may  not  be  good  for  another.  There  is 
one  point  on  which  doctors  all  agree,  and  that  is, 
they  very  rarely  give  physic  to  their  own  families. 
Why  not  ?  A  friend  suggests  that  it  is  from  sheer 
benevolence,  in  order  that  they  may  have  more  left 
for  other  people. 


MY  NOTION  OF  MUSIC. 


''YE  been  defending  myself  from  the  charge 
of  "  not  knowing  what  music  is."  Perhaps 
I  don't  know.  But  when  I  go  to  a  fashion 
able  concert,  and  the  lady  "artiste"  I  believe  that 
is  the  regulation-word,  comes  out  in  her  best  bib 
and  tucker,  with  a  gilt  battle-axe  in  her  back  hair, 
and  a  sun-flower  in  her  bosom,  led  by  the  tips  of 
her  white  gloves,  by  the  light  of  a  gleaming  brace 
let,  and  stands  there  twiddling  a  sheet  of  music,  pre 
paratory  to  the  initiatory  scream,  I  feel  like  scream 
ing  myself.  Kow  if  she  would  just  trot  on,  in  her 
morning  gown,  darning  a  pair  of  stockings,  and  sit 
naturally  down  in  her  old  rocking-chair,  and  give 
me  "  Auld  Robin  Gray,"  instead  of  running  her 
voice  up  and  down  the  scales  for  an  hour  to  show 
me  how  high  and  how  low  she  can  go  without 
dropping  down  in  a  fit,  I'd  like  it.  One  trial  of 
her  voice  that  way,  to  test  its  capacity,  satisfies  me. 
It  is  as  good  as  a  dozen,  and  a  great  deal  better.  I 
don't  want  to  listen  to  it  a  whole  evening.  I  will 
persist,  that  running  up  and  down  the  scales  that 
way  isn't  "music"  Then  if  you  only  knew  the 
agony  I'm  in,  when  drawing  near  the  end  of  one  of 
her  musical  gymnastics,  she  essays  to  wind  up  with 


My  Notion  of  Music.  17 

one  of  those  swift,  deafening  dorft-stop-to-fireathe 
finales,  you  would  pity  me.  I  get  hysterical.  I 
wish  she  would  split  her  throat  at  once,  or  stop.  I 
want  to  be  let  out.  I  want  the  roof  lifted ;  I  feel  a 
cold  perspiration  breaking  out  on  my  forehead.  I 
know  that  presently  she  will  catch  up  that  blue- 
gauze  skirt  and  skim  out  that  side-door,  only  to 
come  and  do  it  all  over  again,  in  obedience  to  that 
dead-head  encore.  You  see  all  this  machinery  dis 
enchants  me.  It  takes  away  my  appetite,  like 
telling  me  at  dinner  how  much  beef  is  a  pound.  I 
had  rather  the  ropes  and  pulleys  of  music  would 
keep  behind  the  curtain. 

Of  course  my  "  taste  is  not  cultivated,"  and  more 
over,  the  longer  I  live  the  less  chance  there  is  of  it. 
On  that  point,  I'm  what  country  folks  call  "sot." 
Sometimes,  when  passing  one  of  these  concert-rooms 
of  an  evening,  I  have  caught  a  note  that  I  took 
home  with  me.  Caught  it  with  the  help  of  the 
darkness  and  the  glimmering  stars,  and  the  fresh 
wind  on  my  forehead,  and  a  blessed  ignorance' of 
the  distorted  mouth  and  the  heaving  millinery  that 
sent  it  forth.  But  take  me  in,  and  you'll  have  an 
hysterical  maniac.  The  solemn  regulation  faces, 
looking  at  that  "music,"  set  me  bewitched  to  laugh 
and  outrage  that  fashion-drilled  and  kidded  audi 
ence.  Bless  you,  /  can't  help  it.  I  had  rather  hear 
Dinah  sing  "  Old  John  Brown  "  over  her  wash-tub. 
I  had  rather  go  over  to  Mr.  Beecher's  church  some 
Sunday  night  and  hear  that  vast  congregation  swell 
forth  Old  Hundred,  with  each  man  and  woman's 
2 


18  My  Notion  of  Music. 

soul  so  in  it,  that  earthly  cares  and  frets  are  no 
more  remembered,  than  the  old  garments  we  cast 
out  of  sight. 

When  the  words  of  a  favorite  hymn  are  read 
from  the  pulpit,  and  I  am  expecting  the  good  old- 
fashioned  tune,  that  has  been  wedded  to  it  since  my 
earliest  recollection,  and  instead,  I  am  treated  to  a 
series  of  quirks  and  quavers  by  a  professional  quar 
tette,  I  can't  help  wishing  myself  where  the  whole 
congregation  sing  with  the  heart  and  the  under 
standing,  in  the  old-fashioned  manner.  I  can  have 
"  opera  "  on  week-days,  and  scenery  and  fine  dresses 
thrown  in.  Sunday  I  want  Sunday,  not  opera  in 
neglige. 

Of  course  it  is  high  treason  for  me  to  make  such 
an  avowal ;  so,  while  I  am  in  for  it,  I  may  as  well 
give  another  twist  to  the  rope  that  is  round  my 
neck.  The  other  night  I  went  to  hear  "  The  Mes 
siah."  The  words  are  lovely,  and  as  familiar  to  my 
Puritan  ears  as  the  "  Assembly's  Catechism ; "  but 
when  they  kept  on  repeating,  "  The  Lord  is  in  his 
hoi — the  Lord  is  in — is  in  his  hoi — is  in — the  Lord 
is  in  his  hoi " — and  when  the  leader,  slim,  and 
clothed  in  inky  black,  kept  his  arms  going  like  a 
Jack  in  a  box,  I  grew  anything  but  devout.  The 
ludicrous  side  of  it  got  the  better  of  me ;  and  when 
my  companion,  who  pretends  to  be  no  Christian  at 
all,  turned  to  me,  who  am  reputed  to  be  one,  in  a 
state  of  exaltation,  and  said,  "  Isn't  that  grand, 
Fanny  2 "  he  could  have  wished  that  the  tears  in  my 
eyes  were  not  hysterical,  from  long-suppressed 


My  Notion  of  Music.  19 

laughter.  He  says  he  never  will  take  me  there 
again,  and  I  only  hope  he  will  keep  his  word.  All 
the  "  music "  I  got  out  of  it  was  in  one  or  two 
lovely  "  solos." 

Now  what  I  want  to  know  is,  which  has  the  most 
love  for  genuine  music — he  or  I  ? 

The  fact  is,  I  like  to  find  my  music  in  unexpected, 
simple  ways,  where  the  machinery  is  not  visible, 
like  the  Galvanic  gyrations  of  that  "leader,"  for 
instance.  That  kind  of  thing  recalls  too  vividly  my 
old  "  fa-sol-la  "  singing-school,  where  the  boys  pulled 
my  curls,  and  gave  me  candy  and  misspelt  notes. 

There  is  evidently  something  wanting  in  my 
make-up,  with  regard  to  "  music,"  when  I  can  cry 
at  the  singing  of  the  following  simple  verses,  by  the 
whole  congregation  in  church,  and  do  the  opposite 
at  the  scientific  performance  of  "  The  Messiah." 
Listen  to  the  verses : 

11  Pass  me  not,  O  gentle  Saviour, 

Hear  my  humble  cry ; 
While  on  others  Thou  art  smiling, 
Do  not  pass  me  by. 

Saviour,  Saviour, 
Hear  my  humble  cry. 

*'  If  I  ask  Him  to  receive  me, 

Will  he  say  me  Nay? 
Not  till  earth  and  not  till  heaven 
Shall  have  passed  away." 


"BUDDING  SPRING"— IN  THE  CITY. 


E  of  the  city  do  not  appreciate  the  blessing 
of  closed  windows  and  silence,  until  bud 
ding  Spring  comes.  The  terrific  war-whoop 
of  the  milkman  inaugurates  the  new-born  day  long 
before  we  should  otherwise  recognize  it.  Following 
him  is  the  rag-man,  with  his  handcart,  to  which  six 
huge  jangling,  terrific  cow-bells  are  fastened,  as  an 
accompaniment  to  the  yet  louder  yell  of  "  r-a-g-s." 
Then  comes  the"  S-t-r-a-w-b-e-r-r-y  "man,  with  lungs 
of  leather,  splitting  your  head,  as  you  try  to  sip  your 
coffee  in  peace.  Close  upon  his  heels,  before  he 
has  hardly  turned  the  corner,  comes  the  pine-apple 
man,  who  tries  to  outscreech  him.  Then  the  fish- 
man,  who  blows  a  hideous  tin  trumpet,  loud  enough 
to  rouse  the  Seven  Sleepers,  and  discordant  enough 
to  set  all  your  nerves  jangling,  if  they  had  not  al 
ready  been  taxed  to  the  utmost.  You  jump  up  in  a 
frenzy  to  close  the  window,  only  to  see  that  the  fish- 
man  has  stopped  his  abominable  cart  at  the  door  of 
a  neighbor,  who  keeps  a  carriage  and  livery,  and  is 
therefore  fond  of  cheap,  stale  fish ;  where  he  is  de 
liberately  cleaning  and  splitting  them,  and  throwing 
the  refuse  matter  in  the  street,  as  a  bouquet  for  your 


"Budding  Spring" — In  the  City.      21 

-nostrils  during  the  warm  day.  Then  comes  a  pro 
cession  of  heavy  carts,  the  drivers  of  which  are 
lashing  their  skeleton  nags  to  fury,  with  loud  cracks 
of  their  whips,  to  see  which  shall  win  in  the  race, 
while  every  one  of  your  window-panes  shakes  as  if 
an  earthquake  were  in  progress,  as  they  rumble  over 
the  stones.  By  this  time  comes  a  great  mob  of 
boys,  with  vigorous  lungs,  tossing  each  other's  caps 
in  the  air,  and  screeching  with  a  power  perfectly 
inexplicable  at  only  six,  ten,  or  twelve  years  of 
practice.  Indeed,  the  smaller  the  boy  the  bigger  is 
his  war-whoop,  as  a  general  rule.  Then  comes  a 
wheezy  organ-grinder,  who,  encouraged  by  the  fatal 
show  of  plants  in  your  windows,  imagines  you  to  be 
romantically  fond  of  "  The  Morning  Star,"  and  im 
mediately  begins,  in  verse,  to  describe  how  he 
"  feels."  Nothing  short  of  fifty  cents  will  purchase 
his  absence,  which  encouragement  is  followed  by 
some  miserable  little  rats  of  boys,  anxious  to  succeed 
him  on  the  violin  and  harp. 

By  this  time  your  hair  stands  on  end,  and  beads 
of  perspiration  form  upon  your  nose.  You  fly  for 
refuge  to  the  back  of  the  house.  Alas !  there  is  a 
young  thing  of  "  sixteen  summers  "  and  no  winters 
running  up  and  down  the  gamut  on  a  tin-kettle 
piano.  In  the  next  house  is  a  little  dog  barking  as 
if  his  last  hour  was  coming ;  while  upon  the  shed 
are  two  cats,  in  the  most  inflamed  state  of  bristle, 
glaring  like  fiends,  and  "  maow  "-ing  in  the  most 
hellish  manner  at  each  other's  whiskers.  You  go 
down  into  the  parlor,  and  seat  yourself  there. 


22      "Budding  Spring" — In  the  City. 

Your  neighbor,  Tom  Snooks,  is  smoking  at  his  win 
dow,  and  puffing  it  right  through  yours  over  your 
lovely  roses,  the  perfume  of  which  he  quite  extin 
guishes  with  his  nasty  odor. 

Heavens!  And  ,  this  is  "Spring!"  "Budding 
Spring !  "  The  poets  make  no  mention  of  these 
little  things  in  their  "  Odes  ! " 

Well — at  least,  you  say  to  yourself,  there  will  be 
peace  and  heavenly  quiet  with  the  stars  at  midnight, 
by  the  open  window.  I  will  be  patient  till  then. 

Is  there? 

What  is  that  ?  A  policeman's  loud  rap-rap  on  the 
pavement  for  assistance  to  capture  a  burglar.  Next 
a  woman's  scream;  the  brute  who  just  accosted  the 
poor  wretch  has  struck  her  a  heavy  blow  upon  the 
temple.  And  now  reels  past  a  drunken  man,  zigzag 
ging  down  the  street,  with  a  little  whimpering  boy 
by  one  hand,  old  enough  to  know  what  a  "  Station- 
house  "  means,  and  trembling  lest  "  father  "  should 
be  taken  there. 

You  throw  yourself  upon  your  bed,  weary  and 
sick  at  heart.  Even  the  stars  seem  to  glow  with  a  red, 
unnatural  light,  as  if  they  too  were  worn  with  watch 
ing  the  wrongs  and  frets  they  nightly  look  down 
upon. 

"  Balmy  night."    What  liars  poets  can  be  ! 


•  A  PEEP  AT  BOSTON. 


OSTON  is  a  lovely  place  to  be  baptized  in? 
and  to  go  back  to.  My  old  love,  "  Boston 
Common" — that  good,  old-fashioned,  un 
spoiled,  umnodernized  name — looks  more  lovely 
this  summer  than  I  ever  remember  to  have  seen  it. 
New  York  may  well  take  a  lesson  from  its  order 
and  neatness,  with  regard  to  our  ill-kept  city  parks. 
I  sat  there,  under  those  lovely  trees  which  used  to 
wave  over  my  school-girl  head  ;  and  had  it  not  been 
for  the  little  bright-eyed  grandchild  beside  me 
picking  buttercups,  I  might  have  fancied  it  was 
Saturday  afternoon,  and  no  school,  and  that  I  was 
to  be  back  to  my  mother's  apronstrings  "  by  sun 
down,  without  fail."  I  know  I  could  not  have 
enjoyed  even  then  the  birds'  song,  or  the  sparkling 
pond,  or  the  big  trees  more  than  at  that  moment. 
Out  of  my  dream-land,  whither  they  had  led  me,  I 
was  awakened  by  a  jump  into  my  lap,  and  the 
question,  "  And  did  you  really  play  with  buttercups 
here,  when  you  were  a  little  girl?  "  It  was  a  long 
bridge  that  question  led  me  over,  so  long  that  I  for 
got  to  answer  till  the  question  was  repeated.  I  had 
to  stop,  and  outgrow  buttercups,  and  hold  again  by 
my  matronly  hand  a  little  creature,  the  counterpart 


24  A  Peep  at  Boston. 

of  my  questioner,  who  long  since  closed  her  eyes 
forever,  in  this  world,  upon  us  both !  It  took  time, 
you  see,  before  I  could  say,  "  Yes,  dear ;  it  was  just 
in  this  veiy  lovely  spot  that  both  your  mother  and  I 
picked  buttercups  when  children,  on  the  bright  Sat 
urday  a^ernoons  of  long  ago ;  and  six  years  and  a 
half  of  your  little  life  I  have  waited,  to  see  you  run 
down  those  sloping  paths,  and  to  show  you  the  { Frog- 
Pond,'  and  to  tell  you  to  look  up  into  the  branches 
that  nearly  touch  the  sky ;  and  now  here  we  are ! 
But  there  were  no  '  deer '  feeding  on  this  Common 
when  I  was  a  little  girl,  but  instead  cows  to  whom 
I  gave  plenty  of  room  to  pass  as  I  went  along  ;  and 
instead  of  that  gay  little  hat,  with  mimic  grasses 
and  daisies,  such  as  I  have  put  upon  your  head,  my 
mother  tied  under  my  chin  a  little  sun-bonnet. 
And  she  didn't  run  to  me  if  I  sneezed,  as  I  do  to 
you,  for  I  had  a  heap  of  brothers  and  sisters,  and  we 
had  to  take  care  of  our  own  sneezing ;  but  I  know 
I  had  twenty-five  cents  to  spend  on  Fourth  of  July ; 
and  I  know  that,  if  any  little  girl's  belt  in  Boston 
was  ever  tightened  by  roast  turkey  and  pie  more 
than  mine  was  on  i  Thanksgiving  day,'  I  pity  her ! 
I  wonder  what  has  become  of  all  the  little  children 
I  used  to  play  with  here  ?  "We  used  to  go  up  to  the 
tip-top  of  that  State  House,  I  know;  but  I  don't 
care  to  try  it  now.  Not  that  it  would  tire  me — of 
course  not ;  but  I've  seen  all  that  can  be  seen  from 
that  dome,  and  a  little  farther  too." 

Oh,  the  peace  and  loveliness  of  sweet  "Mount 
Auburn ! "    The  new  graves  since  I  was  there,  and 


A  Peep  at  Boston.  25 

the  old  graves  now  moss-grown  that  I  remember  so 
well !  I,  too,  shall  sleep  sweetly  there  some  day  ; 
but  the  hardest  pang  I  shall  know,  between  now 
and  then,  will  be  letting  go  the  little  hand  that 
c.lasped  mine  to-day,  as  I  walked  about  there.  And 
yet  there  were  little  graves  all  around  us.  He 
knows  best ! 

'  In  Boston  I  saw  the  remains  of  "  The  Jubilee." 
I  was  asked,  "  Did  I  hear  and  see  the  Jubilee  ? "  I 
was  supposed,  as  coming  from  New  York,  to  grieve 
at  the  success  of  "The  Jubilee;"  and  being  an 
adopted  New  Yorker,  to  feel  like  skulking  round 
the  back  streets  in  Boston,  covered  with  confusion 
that  Manhattan  had  no  "  Jubilee."  Lord  bless  you  ! 
I  love  every  lean  that  was  ever  baked  in  Boston ; 
every  cod-fish-ball  ever  fried  ;  and  every  brown- 
bread  loaf  ever  baked  there.  I  know  too,  as  well 
as  any  Bostonian,  that — 

' '  Zaccheus  lie 
Did  climb  the  tree, 
His  Lord  and  Master 
For  to  see  ; " 

and  I  made  a  courtesy  to  the  ground,  when  I  came 
in  sight  of  "  Park-stree.t "  steeple,  and  "  Faneuil 
Hall!"  so  don't  be  pitching  into  me.  Hit  some 
other  fellow  who  isn't  "up"  in  the  Assembly's 
catechism,  and  "  total  depravity,"  and  brown  bread. 
"  Jubilee  "  as  much  as  you  want  to  ;  the  world  is  a 
big  place.  "  Holler  "  away ! 

New  England,  all  hail   to   thy  peerless   thrift! 
Thou  art  cranky  and  crotchety  ;  thou  art  "  sot,"  un- 


26  A  Peep  at  Boston. 

common  "  sot,"  in  thy  ways,  owing  doubtless  to  the 
amiable  sediment  of  English  blood  in   thy  veins. 
Thou  wilt  not  be  cheated  in  a  bargain,  even  by  thy 
best  friend;  but,  in  the  meantime,  that  enableth 
thy  large  heart  to  give  handsomely  when  charity 
knocks  at  thy  door.     Thy  pronunciation  may  be  pe 
culiar,  but,  in  the  meantime,  what  thou  dost  not 
know,  and  cannot  do,  is  rarely  worth  knowing  or 
doing.      Thou  never  hast  marble,  and  silver,  and 
plate  glass,  and  statuary,  in  thy  show-parlors,  and 
shabby  belongings  where  the  world  does  not  pene 
trate.     Thou    hast    not    stuccoed  walls,  with    big 
cracks  in  them,  or  anything  in  thy  domiciles,  hang 
ing  as  it  were  by  the  eyelids.     Every  nail  is  driven 
so  that  it  will  stay ;  every  hinge  hung  so  that  it  will 
work  thoroughly.     Every  bolt  and  key  and  lock  per 
form  their  duty  like  a  martinet,  so  long  as  a  piece 
of  them  endures.     If  thou  hast  a  garden,  be  it  only 
a  square  foot,  it  is  made  the  most  of  with  its  "  long 
saace"  and  "  short  saace"  and  "  wimmin's  notions," 
in  the  shape  of  flowers  and  caraway  seed,  to  chew 
on   Sunday,  when    the    minister   gets    as    far    as 
"  seventeenth!}',"  and    carnal    nature  will    fondly 
recur  to  the  waiting  pot  of  baked   beans  in  the 
kitchen   oven.     O!     New  England,  here   could   I 
shed -salt  tears  at  the  thought  of  thy  baked  beans, 
for  Gotham  knows  them  not.     Alluding  to  that  edi 
ble,  I  am  met  with  a  pitying  sneer,  accompanied 
with  that  dread  word  to  snobs — "provincial !  "     It 
is  ever  thus,  my  peerless,  with  the  envy  which  can- 
jl<>t  attain  to  the  perfection  it  derides.     For  yon 


A  Peep  at  Boston.  27 

should  see,  my  thrifty  New  England,  the  watery, 
white-livered,  tasteless,  swiramy,  sticky  poultice 
which  Gotham  christens  "  baked  beans."  My  soul 
revolts  at  it.  It  is  an  unfeeling,  wretched  mockery 
of  the  rich,  brown,  crispy,  succulent  contents  of  that 
"platter" — yes, platter — I  will  say  it! — which  erst 
delighted  my  eyes  in  the  days  when  I  swallowed  the 
Catechism  without  a  question  as  to  its  infallibility. 
The  flavor  of  the  beans  "  haunts  memory  still ; " 
but  as  to  the  Catechism,  the  world  is  progressing, 
and  I  am  not  one  to  put  a  drag  on  its  wheels,  believ 
ing  that 

Truth  is  sure 
And  will  endure, 

and  it  is  best  to  let  "  natur  "  caper,  especially  as  you 
can't  help  it;  and  after  the  dust  it  has  kicked  up 
has  cleared  away,  we  shall  see  what  we  shall  see,  be 
it  wheat  or  chaff.  Beside,  the  most  conservative 
must  admit,  that  though  Noah's  Ark  was  excellent 
for  the  flood,  the  "  Great  Eastern  "  is  an  improve 
ment  on  it ;  and  'tisrit  pretty,  so  they  say  who 
of tenest practise  it!  to  stand  with  the  Bible  in  your 
hand  in  1862,  and  clamor  for  a  private  latch-key  to 
heaven. 

But  I  have  wandered  from  my  baked  beans.  I 
want  some.  Some  New  England  baked  beans. 
Some  of  "mother's  beans."  But,  alas,  mother's 
oven  is  fast  disappearing.  Mother's  oven,  where 
the  beans  stayed  in  all  night,  with  the  brown  bread. 
Alas!  it  has  given  way  to  new-fangled  "ranges," 
which  "  don't  know  beans."  Excuse  the  vulgarity 


28  A  Peep  at  Boston. 

of  the  expression,  but  in  such  a  cause  I  shan't  stand 
for  trifles.  If  you  want  rose-leaf  sentimental-refine 
ment,  together  with  creamy  patriotism,  you  may 
look  in  the  columns  of  the  Whip-Syllabub-Family- 
Yisitor.  This  is  a  digression. 

When  I  started  for  a  New  England  tour,  it  was 
my  intention  to  get  some  of  those  beans ;  but  the 
hotels  there  are  getting  so  "genteel"  with  their 
paper-pantalettes  on  the  roast-chicken's  legs,  and  their 
paper  frills  on  the  roast-pigs'-tails,  that  I  was  con 
vinced,  that  only  at  a  genuine  unsophisticated  farm 
house,  where  I  could  light  down  unannounced  on 
Sarah-Jane — could  this  edible  in  its  native  and  lus 
cious  beauty  be  found. 

ISText  summer,  if  "  strategy  "  and  the  rebels  don't 
chew  us  up,  I  start  on  a  tour  for  those  beans ;  nor 
am  I  to  be  imposed  upon  by  any  "genteel"  substi 
tutes  or  abortions  under  that  name  ! 


A  HINT  TO  PAEENTS. — When  parents  are  consid 
ering  the  question  of  the  hours  of  study  for  growing 
children  in  our  schools,  let  them  do  it  without  any 
reference  to  the  side  question,  how  they  can  "  bear 
those  noisy  children,  during  the  subtracted  hours, 
at  home."  Perhaps  they  can  better  bear  this  than 
to  pay  the  doctor's  bills.  This  is  the  way  to  look 
at  it,  whether  it  be  regarded  in  a  selfish  or  a  hu 
manitarian  point  of  view. 


BLACKWELES  ISLAND. 


to  visiting  BlackwelPs  Island,  my  ideas 
of  that  place  were  very  forlorn  and  small- 
pox-y.  It  makes  very  little  difference,  to  be 
sure,  to  a  man,  or  a  woman,  shut  up  in  a  cell  eight 
feet  by  four,  how  lovely  are  the  out-door  surround 
ings  ;  how  blue  the  river  that  plashes  against  the 
garden  wall  below,  flecked  with  white  sails,  and 
alive  with  gay  pleasure-seekers,  whose  merry  laugh 
has  no  monotone  of  sadness,  that  the  convict  wears 
the  badge  of  degradation ;  and  yet,  after  all,  one 
involuntarily  says  to  one's  self,  so  instinctively  do  we 
turn  to  the  cheerful  side,  I  am  glad  they  are  located 
on  this  lovely  island.  Do  you  shrug  your  shoulders, 
Sir  Cynic,  and  number  over  the  crimes  they  have 
committed  ?  Are  your  crimes  against  society  less, 
that  they  are  written  down  only  in  God's  book  of 
remembrance  ?  Are  you  less  guilty  that  you  have 
been  politic  enough  to  commit  only  those  that  a 
short-sighted,  unequal  human  law  sanctions  ?  Shall 
I  pity  these  poor  wrecks  of  humanity  less,  because 
they  are  so  recklessly  self-wrecked  ?  because  they 
turn  away  from  my  pity  ?  Before  I  come  to  this,  I 
must  know,  as  their  Maker  knows,  what  evil  influ 
ences  have  encircled  their  cradles.  IIow  many 


30  Blacl'welTs  Island. 

times,  when  their  stomachs  have  been  empty,  some 
fall-fed,  whining  disciple,  has  presented  them  with 
a  Bible  or  a  Tract,  saying,  "  Be  ye  warmed  and 
filled."  I  must  know  how  often,  when  their  feet 
have  tried  to  climb  the  narrow,  up-hill  path  of  right, 
the  eyes  that  have  watched,  have  watched  only  for 
their  halting ;  never  noting,  as  God  notes,  the  steps 
that  did  not  slip — never  holding  ont  the  strong  right 
hand  of  help  when  the  devil  with  a  full  larder  was 
tugging  furiously  at  their  skirts  to  pull  them  back 
ward  ;  but  only  saying  "  I  told  you  so,"  when  he, 
laughing  at  your  pharisaical  stupidity,  succeeded. 

.1  must  go  a  great  way  back  of  those  hard,  defiant 
faces,  where  hate  of  their  kind  seerns  indelibly 
burnt  in ;  back — back — to  the  soft  blue  sky  of  in 
fancy,  overclouded  before  the  little  one  had  strength 
to  contend  with  the  flashing  lightning  and  pealing 
thunder  of  misfortune  and  poverty  which  stunned 
and  blinded  his  moral  perceptions.  I  cannot  see 
that  mournful  procession  of  men,  filing  off  into  those 
dark  cells,  none  too  dark,  none  too  narrow,  alas !  to 
admit  troops  of  devils,  without  wishing  that  some 
white-winged  angel  might  enter  too ;  and  when  their 
shining  eyeballs  peer  at  my  retreating  figure  through 
the  gratings,  my  heart  shrieks  out  in  its  pain — oh  ! 
believe  that  there  is  pity  here — only  pity  ;  and  I 
hate  the  bolts  and  bars,  and  I  say  this  is  not  the 
way  to  make  bad  men  good ;  or,  at  least  if  it  be, 
these  convicts  should  not,  when  discharged,  be  thrust 
out  loose  into  the  world  with  empty  pockets,  and  a 
bad  name,  to  earn  a  speedy  "  through-ticket "  back 


BlackweWs  Island.  31 

again.  I  say,  if  this  l)e  the  way,  let  humanity  not 
stop  here,  but  take  one  noble  step  forward,  and 
when  she  knocks  off  the  convict's  fetters,  and  lands 
him  on  the  opposite  shore,  let  her  not  turn  her  back 
and  leave  him  there  as  if  her  duty  were  done  ;  but 
let  her  there  erect  a  noble  institution  where  he  can 
find  a  Jcind  welcome  and  instant  employment ;  be 
fore  temptation,  joining  hands  with  his  necessities, 
plunge  him  again  headlong  into  the  gulf  of  sin. 

And  here  seems  to  me  to  be  the  loose  screw  in 
these  institutions ;  admirably  managed  as  many  of 
them  are,  according  to  the  prevalent  ideas  on  the 
subject.  You  may  tell  me  that  I  am  a  woman,  and 
know  nothing  about  it ;  and  I  tell  you  that  I  want 
to  know.  I  tell  you,  that  I  don't  believe  the  way  to 
restore  a  man's  lost  self-respect  is  to  degrade  him 
before  his  fellow-creatures ;  to  brand  him,  and  chain 
him,  and  poke  him  up  to  show  his  points,  like  a 
hyena  in  a  menagerie.  K"o  wonder  that  he  growls 
at  you,  and  grows  vicious ;  no  wonder  that  he  eats 
the  food  you  thrust  between  the  bars  of  his  cage 
with  gnashing  teeth,  and  a  vow  to  take  it  out  of  the 
world  somehow,  when  he  gets  out ;  no  wonder  that 
he  thinks  the  Bible  you  place  in  his  cell  a  humbug, 
and  God  a  myth.  I  would  have  you  startle  up  his 
self-respect  by  placing  him  in  a  position  to  show 
that  you  trusted  him ;  I  would  have  you  give  him 
something  to  hold  in  charge,  for  which  he  is  in 
honor  responsible ;  appeal  to  his  letter  feelings,  or 
if  they  smoulder  almost  to  extinction,  fan  them  into 
a  flame  for  him  out  of  that  remnant  of  God's  image 


32  BlackwelPs  Island. 

which  the  vilest  can  never  wholly  destroy.  Any 
thing  but  shutting  a  man  up  with  hell  in  his  heart 
to  maJte  him  good.  The  devils  may  well  chuckle 
at  it.  And  above  all.  tear  down  that  tauntin^  in- 

1  O 

scription  over  the  prison-hall  door  at  BlackwelPs 
Island — "  The  way  of  transgressors  is  hard  " — and 
place  instead  of  it,  "  Neither  do  I  condemn  thee ; 
go  and  sin  no  more." 

Now,  you  can  step  aside,  Mrs.  Grundy ;  what  I 
am  about  to  write  is  not  for  your  over-fastidious 
ear.  -You,  who  take  by  the  hand  the  polished  roue, 
and  welcome  him  with  a  sweet  smile  to  the  parlor 
where  sit  your  young,  trusting  daughters  ;  you,  who 
"  have  no  business  with  his  private  life,  so  long  as 
his  manners  are  gentlemanly;"  you  who,  while  say 
ing  this,  turn  away  with  bitter,  unwomanly  words 
from  his  penitent,  writhing  victim.  I  ask  no  leave 
of  you  to  speak  of  the  wretched  girls  picked  out  of 
the  gutters  of  New  York  streets,  to  inhabit  those 
cells  at  BlackwelPs  Island.  I  speak  not  to  you  of 
what  was  tugging  at  my  heartstrings  as  I  saw  them, 
that  beautiful  summer  afternoon,  lile  in,  two  by 
two,  to  their  meals,  followed  by  a  man  carrying  a 
cowhide  in  his  hand,  by  way  of  reminder ;  all  this 
would  not  interest  you ;  but  when  you  tell  me  that 
these  women  are  not  to  be  named  to  ears  polite, 
that  our  sons  and  our  daughters  should  grow  up 
ignorant  of  their  existence,  I  stop  my  ears.  As  if 
they  could,  or  did !  As  if  they  can  take  a  step  in 
the  public  streets  without  being  jostled  or  addressed 
by  them,  or  pained  by  their  passing  ribaldry ;  as  if 


BlacTciveWs  Island.  33 

they  could  return  from  a  party  or  concert  at  night, 
without  meeting  droves  of  them ;  as  if  they  could, 
even  in  broad  daylight,  sit  down  to  an  ice-cream 
without  having  one  for  a  vis-d-vis.  As  if  they  could 
ride  in  a  car  or  omnibus,  or  cross  in  a  ferry -boat,  or 
go  to  a  watering-place,  without  being  unmistakably 
confronted  by  them.  No,  Mrs.  Grundy  ;  you  know 
all  this  as  well  as  I  do.  You  would  push  them 
"  anywhere  out  of  the  world,"  as  unfit  to  live,  as 
unfit  to  die;  they,  the  weaker  party,  while  their 
partners  in  sin,  for  whom  you  claim  greater  mental 
superiority,  and  who,  by  your  own  finding,  should 
be  much  better  able  to  learn  and  to  teach  the  lesson 
of  self-control — to  them  you  extend  perfect  absolu 
tion.  Most  consistent  Mrs.  Grundy,  get  out  of  my 
way  while  I  say  what  I  was  going  to,  without  fear 
or  favor  of  yours. 

If  I  believed,  as  legislators,  and  others  with  whom 
I  have  talked  on  this  subject,  pretend  to  believe, 
they  best  know  why,  that  God  ever  made  one  of 
those  girls  for  the  life  they  lead,  for  this  in  plain 
Saxon  is  what  their  talk  amounts  to,  I  should  curse 
Him.  If  I  could  temporize  as  they  do  about  it,  as 
a  "necessary  evil,"  and  "always  has  been,  and 
always  will  be,"  and  (then  add  this  beautiful  tribute 
to  manhood)  "that  pure  women  would  not  be  safe 
were  it  not  so" — and  all  the  other  budget  of  excuses 
which  this  sin  makes  to  '  cover  its  deformity — I 
would  forswear  my  manhood. 

You  say  their  intellects  are  small,  they  are  mere 
animals,  naturally  coarse  and  grovelling,  Answer 
3 


34  BlackwelVs  Island. 

me  this — are  they,  or  are  they  not  immortal '•?  De 
cide  the  question  whether  this  life  is  to  be  all  to 
them.  Decide  before  yon  shoulder  the  responsi 
bility  of  such  a  girl's  future.  Granted  she  has  only 
this  life.  God  knows  how  much  misery  may  be 
crowded  into  that.  But  you  say,  "  Bless  your  soul, 
why  do  you  talk  to  me?  I  have  nothing  to  do 
with  it ;  I  am  as  virtuous  as  St.  Paul."  St.  Paul 
was  a  bachelor,  and  of  course  is  not  my  favorite 
apostle  ;  but  waiving  that,  I  answer,  you  have  some- 
tiling  to  do  with  it  when  you  talk  thus,  and  throw 
your  influence  on  the  wrong  side.  No  matter  how 
outwardly  correct  your  past  life  may  have  been,  if 
you  really  Relieve  what  you  say,  I  would  not  give  a 
fig  for  your  virtue  if  temptation  and  opportunity 
favored ;  and  if  you  talk  so  for  talk's  sake,  and  do 
not  believe  it,  you  had  better  "  tarry  at  Jericho  till 
your  beard  be  grown." 

But  you  say  to  me,  "  Oh,  you  don't  know  any 
thing  about  it;  men  are  differently  constituted  from 
women;  woman's  sphere  is  home."  That  don't 
suspend  the  laws  of  her  being.  That  don't  make  it 
that  she  don't  need  sympathy  and  appreciation. 
That  don't  make  it  that  she  is  never  weary  and 
needs  amusement  to  restore  her.  Fudge.  I  believe 
in  no  difference  that  makes  this  distinction.  Women 
lead,  most  of  them,  lives  of  unbroken  monotony, 
and  have  much  more  need  of  exhilarating  influences 
than  men,  whose  life  is  out  of  doors  in  the  breath 
ing,  active  world.  Don't  tell  me  of  shoemakers  at 
their  lasts,  and  tailors  at  their  needles.  Do  either 


BlackweWs  Island.  35 

ever  have  to  lay  down  their  customers'  coats  and 
shoes  fifty  times  a  day,  and  wonder  when  the  day 
is  over  why  their  work  is  not  done,  though  they 
have  struggled  through  fire  and  water  to  finish  it? 
Do  not  both  tailor  and  shoemaker  have  at  least  the 
variation  of  a  walk  to  or  from  the  shop  to  their 
meals?  Do  not  their  customers  talk  their  beloved 
politics  to  them  while  they  stitch,  and  do  not  their 
"  confreres "  run  for  a  bottle  of  ale  and  crack  merry 
jokes  with  them  as  their  work  progresses?  Sirs!  if 
monotony  is  to  be  avoided  in  man's  life  as  injurious, 
if  "variety"  and  exhilaration  must  always  be  the 
spice  to  his  pursuits,  how  much  more  must  it  be 
necessary  to  a  sensitively  organized  woman  ?  If 
home  is  not  sufficient  (and  I  will  persist  that  any 
industrious,  virtuous,  unambitious  man,  may  have 
a  home  if  he  chooses) ;  if  home  is  not  sufficient  for 
him,  why  should  it  suffice  for  her?  whose  work  is 
never  done — who  can  have  literally  no  such  thing 
as  system  (and  here's  where  a  mother's  discourage 
ment  comes  in),  while  her  babes  are  in  their  infancy ; 
who  often  says  to  herself  at  night,  though  she 
would  not  for  worlds  part  with  one  of  them,  "I 
can't  tell  what  I  have  accomplished  to-day,  and  yet 
I  have  not  been  idle  a  minute;"  and  day  after  day 
passes  on  in  this  way,  and  perhaps  for  weeks  she 
does  not  pass  the  threshold  for  a  breath  of  air,  and 
yet  men  talk  of  "monotony!"  and  being  "differ 
ently  constituted,"  and  needing  amusement  and 
exhilaration;  and  "business"  is  the  broad  mantle 
which  it  is  not  always  safe  for  a  wife  to  lift.  I 


36  SlcwhwdTs  Island. 

have  no  faith  in  putting  women  in  a  pound,  that 
men  may  trample  down  the  clover  in  a  forty-acre 
lot.  But  enough  for  that  transparent  excuse. 

The  great  Law-giver  made  no  distinction  of  sex, 
as  far  as  I  can  find  out,  when  he  promulgated  the 
seventh  commandment,  nor  should  we.  You  tell 
me  "society  makes  a  difference;"  more  shame  to 
it — more  shame  to  the  women  who  help  to  per 
petuate  it.  You  tell  me  that  infidelity  on  the  wife's 
part  involves  an  unjust  claim  upon  the  husband  and 
provider;  and  I  ask  you,  on  the  other  hand,  if  a 
good  and  virtuous  wife  has  not  a  right  to  expect 
healthy  children? 

Let  both  be  equally  pure;  let  every  man  look 
upon  every  woman,  whatsoever  her  rank  or  con 
dition,  as  a  sister  whom  his  manhood  is  bound  to 
protect,  even,  if  need  be,  against  herself,  and  let 
every  woman  turn  the  cold  shoulder  to  any  man  of 
her  acquaintance,  how  polished  soever  he  may  be, 
who  would  degrade  her  sex.  Then  this  vexed  ques 
tion  would  be  settled;  there  would  be  no  such 
libels  upon  womanhood  as  I  saw  at  Blackwell's 
Island,  driven  in  droves  to  their  cells.  £sTo  more 
human  traffic  in  those  gilded  palaces,  which  our 
children  must  not  hear  mentioned,  forsooth!  though 

'  D 

their  very  fathers  may  help  to  support  them,  and 
which  our  tender-hearted  legislators  "  can't  see  their 
way  clear  about."  Then  our  beautiful  rivers  would 
no  longer  toss  upon  our  island  shores  the  "dead 
bodies  of  unfortunate  young  females." 


SHALL  WE  HAVE  MALE  OR  FEMALE 
CLERKS? 

(HE  question  whether  male  or  female  clerks 
in  stores  are  preferred  by  shopping  ladies, 
has  lately  been  agitated.  I  do  not  hesitate 
to  say  that  the  majority  of  ladies  would  much  pre 
fer  the  former. 

There  are  reasons  for  this,  apart  from  the  natural 
and  obvious  preference  which  wromen  entertain  for 
a  coat  and  vest,  before  a  chignon  and  panier.  Male 
clerks,  as  a  general  thing,  confine  their  attention  to ' 
business ;  in  other  words,  "  mind  what  they  are 
about."  Female  clerks  are  too  often  taking  an  in 
ventory  of  the  way  you  dress  your  hair  ;  of  the  cut 
and  trimming,  and  probable  cost  of  your  sacque  and 
dress.  No  lady  who  shops  much  can  be  unaware  of 
the  coroner's  inquest,  favorable  or  otherwise,  thus 
held  over  the  dry-goods  on  her  back.  When  you 
add  to  this  the  momentous  computations,  whether 
her  jewelry  is  bogus  or  real,  and  where  she  got  that 
love  of  a  bonnet,  there  is  grave  room  for  fear  lest 
by  mistake  she  should  roll  you  up  two  yards  of  rib 
bon  instead  of  three,  involving  a  journey  back,  to 
the  disgust  of  yourself  and  your  dress-maker;  or, 
worse  still,  if  the  day  be  stormy,  oblige  you  to  coax 
your  dear  Charles  to  let  you  pin  a  sample  on  the 


38  Shall  we  have  Male  or  Female  Clerics? 

lappel  of  liis  coat,  and  beg  him  just  to  stop  a  min 
ute — there's  a  dear  fellow — as  he  comes  up  town, 
and  bring  it  to  you.  Of  course,  he  gets  talking 
with  Tom  Jones  on  politics,  and  forgets  all  about  it, 
and  only  ejaculates,  "  pshaw  ! "  when  your  horror- 
stricken  dress-maker  asks  you  for  it. 

That's  how  it  is,  although  I  get  my  ears  boxed  for 
saying  it. 

Mind  you,  I  don't  say  that  it  is  always  so,  no  more 
than  it  is  true  that  all  male  clerks  attend  strictly  to 
the  business  in  hand.  Still  it  is  true :  that  is  really 
the  fly  111  the  ointment.  In  the  words  of  the  little 

hymn, 

"  It  is  their  nature  to." 

Women  always  dissect  each  other  the  moment  they 
meet,  and  never  leave  so  much  as  a  hair-pin  un 
measured.  So,  as  you  can't  change  their  nature, 
and  as  the  instances  are  rare  in  which  man,  or  wo 
man  either,  can  do  two  things  correctly  at  the  same 
moment,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it  ? 

Having  said  this  much,  I  am  happy  to  add  that  I 
have  favorite  stores  for  shopping,  where  I  am  served 
\>y  female  clerks  with  a  promptness,  a  politeness,  an 
exactness  and  a  dispatch,  not  to  be  exceeded  by  the 
best-trained  male  clerk  in  existence. 

As  to  the  silly  girls,  and  women  who  go  shopping 
"  for  fun,"  and  to  make  eyes,  and  chatter  with  clerks, 
there  is  no  question  how  their  preferences  go  on  this 
question.  We  don't  count  their  votes. 

For  myself,  as  my  time  is  always  limited,  I  desire 
despatch,  first  and  foremost,  r.nth  an  exactness  involv- 


Shall  we  have  Male  or  Female  Clerics?  39 

ing  no  postscript  to  my  shopping ;  and  I  would  also 
prefer  female  clerks,  if  I  could  include  tins.  In 
fact  I  am  willing,  in  any  case,  to  give  my  vote  for 
the  female  clerks,  so  much  do  I  desire  that  my  own 
sex  should  be  helped  to  help  themselves. 


FASHIONABLE  DISEASE. — The  day  when  it  was  con 
sidered  interesting  and  lady-like  to  be  always  ailing 
has  gone  by.  Good  health,  fortunately,  is  the  fash 
ion.  A  rosy  cheek  is  no  longer  considered  "  vulgar," 
and  a  fair,  shapely  allowance  of  flesh  on  the  bones 
is  considered  the  "  style."  Perhaps  the  great  secret 
that  good  looks  cannot  exist  without  good  health, 
may  have  had  something  to  do  with  the  care  now 
taken  to  obtain  it ;  whether  this,  be  so  or  not,  future 
generations  are  the  gainers  all  the  same.  A  languid 
eye  and  a  waxy,  bloodless  complexion,  may  go  beg 
ging  now  for  admiration.  The  "  elegant  stoop  "  in 
the  shoulders,  formerly  considered  so  aristocratic, 
has  also  miraculously  disappeared.  Women  walk 
more  and  ride  less ;  they  have  rainy-day  suits  of  ap 
parel,  too,  which  superfluity  never  was  known  to 
exist  aforetime,  sunshine  being  the  only  atmosphere 
in  which  the  human  butterfly  was  supposed  to  float. 
In  short,  "  the  fragile  women  of  America  "  will  soon 
exist  only  in  the  acid  journal  of  some  English  travel 
ler,  who  will,  of  course,  stick  to  the  by-gone  fact  as 
a  still  present  reality,  with  a  dogged  pertinacity 
known  only  to  that  amiable  nation. 


UNKNO  WN  A  CQ  UAINTANCES. 


>U  have  none  ?  Then  I  am  sorry  for  you. 
Much  of  my  pleasure  in  my  daily  walks  is 
due  to  them.  Perhaps  you  go  over  the 
ground  mechanically,  with  only  dinner  or  business 
in  your  eye  when  you  shall  reach  'your  journey's 
end.  Perhaps  you  "  don't  see  a  soul,"  as  you  ex 
press  it.  Perhaps  you  have  no  "  soul  "  yourself  ; 
only  a  body,  of  which  you  are  very  conscious,  and 
wrhose  claims  upon  you  outweigh  every  other  con 
sideration.  That  is  a  pity.  I  wouldn't  go  round 
that  treadmill  for  all  the  mines  of  Golconda.  It 
always  makes  me  think  of  that  melancholy  old 
horse  one  sees,  pawing  rotatory  wood,  at  the  way 
stations,  on  the  railroad  tracks ;  and  because  the 
sight  makes  every  bone  in  me  ache,  my  particular 
window-seat  in  the  car  is  always  sure  to  command  a 
view  of  him.  Now,  come  what  will,  I'll  not  be  that 
horse.  You  may  if  you  like,  and  I  will  cling  to 
my  dreams.  I  sha'n't  live  in  this  world  forever, 
and  I  won't  hurry  over  the  ground  and  never  see  a 
sweet  face  as  it  flits  past  me,  or  a  grand  one,  or  a 
sorrowful  one.  I  won't  be  deaf  to  the  rippling 
laugh  of  a  little  child  or  the  musical  voice  of  a  re 
fined  woman.  It  may  be  only  two  words  that  she 


Unknown  Acquaintances.  41 

shall  speak,  but  they  shall  have  a  pleasant  signifi 
cance  for  me.  Then  there  are  strange  faces  I  meet 
every  day  which  I  hope  to  keep  on  meeting  till  I 
die.  Who  was  such  an  idiot  as  to  say  that  "  no 
woman  ever  sees  beauty  in  another  "  ?  I  meet  every 
day  a  face  that  no  man  living  could  admire  more 
than  myself;  soulful  as  well  as  beautiful.  Lovely 
blue,  pensive  eyes ;  golden  hair,  waving  over  a  pure 
white  forehead ;  cheeks  like  the  heart  of  a  "blush 
rose;"  and  a  grieved  little  rosy  month,  like  that  of 
a  baby  to  whom  for  the  first  time  you  deny  some 
thing,  fearing  lest  it  grow  too  wilful.  I  think  that 
day  lost  in  which  I  do  not  meet  that  sweet  face, 
framed  in  its  close  mourning  bonnet.  Were  I  a 
man  it  is  to  that  face  I  should  immediately  "  make 
love." 

Make  love  ?  Alas  !  I  did  not  think  how  terribly 
significant  was  this  modern  term  when  I  used  it. 
Let  no  man  make  love  to  that  face.  But  if  there  is 
one  who  can  be  in  dead  earnest,  and  stay  so,  I  give 
my  consent,  provided  he  will  not  attempt  to  change 
the  expression  of  that  mouth. 

I  have  another  acquaintance.  I  don't  care  to  ask 
"  Who  is  that  man  \  "  I  know  that  he  has  lived  his 
life  and  not  slept  it  away.  I  know  that  it  has  been 
a  pure  and  a  good  one.  It  is  written  in  his  bright, 
clear,  unclouded  eye  ;  in  his  springing  step ;  in  the 
smile  of  content  upon  his  lip ;  in  the  lift  of  his 
shoulders ;  in  the  poise  of  his  head ;  in  "the  free, 
glad  look  with  which  he  breathes  in  his  share  of  the 
warm  sunshine.  Were  he  taken  to  the  bedside  of  a 


42  Unknown  Acquaintances. 

sick  man,  it  seems  to  me  the  very  sight  of  him  were 
health. 

I  used  to  have  many  unknown  acquaintances 
among  the  little  children  in  the  parks ;  but  what 
with  French  nurses  and  silk  velvet  coats,  I  have 
learned  to  turn  my  feet  elsewhere.  It  gives  me  the 
heart-ache  to  see  a  child  slapped  for  picking  up  a 
bright  autumn  leaf,  though  it  may  chance  to  be 
"dirty  ;"  or  denied  a  smooth,  round  pebble,  on  ac 
count  of  a  dainty  little  glove  that  must  be  kept  im 
maculate.  I  get  out  of  temper,  and  wTant  to  call  on 
all  their  mothers  and  light  Quixotic  battles  for  the 
poor  little  things,  as  if  it  would  do  any  good ;  as  if 
mothers  who  dress  their  children  that  \vay  to  play, 
cared  for  anything  lut  their  looks. 

Then  I  have  some  unknown  acquaintances  in  the 
yard  of  a  large  house  in  the  upper  part  of  Broad 
way.  I  never  asked  who  lived  in  the  house  ;  but  I 
thank  him  for  the  rare  birds  of  brilliant  plumage 
who  walk  to  and  fro  in  it,  or  perch  upon  the  win 
dow-sills  or  steps,  as  proudly  conscious  of  their  gay 
feathers  as  the  belles  w:ho  rustle  past.  I  love  to  im 
agine  the  beautiful  countries  they  came  from,  and 
the  flowers  that  blossomed  there,  and  the  soft  skies 
that  arched  over  them.  I  love  to  see  them  pick  up 
their  food  so  daintily,  and,  with  head  on  one  side,  eye 
their  many  admirers  looking  through  the  fence,  as 
if  to  say — beat  that  if  you  can  in  America !  Ah  ! 
my  birdies,  stop  your  crowing ;  just  wait  a  bit  and 
see  how  the  "  American  JZagle  "  is  going  to  come 
out,  and  how  each  time  they  who  have  tried  to  clip 


Unknown  Acquaintances.  43 

his  wings  have  only  found  that  it  made  them  grow 
broader  and  stronger.  Soft  skies  and  sweet  flowers 
are  very  nice  things,  birdies ;  but  rough  winds  and 
freedom  are  better  for  the  soul. 

I  have  said  nothing  of  unknown  acquaintances 
among  my  favorite  authors.  How  many  times — 
did  I  not  so  hate  the  sight  of  a  pen  when  "  school 
is  let  out  " — have  I  longed  to  express  to  them  my 
love  and  gratitude.  Nor,  judging  by  myself,  could 
I  ever  say,  "  they  do  not  need  it ;  "  since  there  are, 
or  should  be,  moments  in  the  experience  of  all  wri 
ters  when  they  regard  with  a  dissatisfied  eye  what 
they  have  already  given  to  the  world,  when  sympa 
thetic,  appreciative  words,  warm  from  the  heart,  are 
hope  and  inspiration  to  the  receiver. 


A  LINK  BETWEEN  HUSBANDS  AND  WIVES. — 
Blessed  be  the  little  children  who  make  up  so  un 
consciously  our  life-disappointments.  How  many 
couples,  mutually  unable  to  bear  each  other's  faults, 
or  to  forbear  the  causes  of  irritation,  find  solace  for 
their  pain  in  these  golden  links  which  still  continue 
to  unite  them.  On  that  they  are  one.  There  they 
can  really  repose.  Those  fragile  props  keep  them 
from  quite  sinking  disheartened  by  life's  roadside. 
How  often  has  a  little  hand  drawn  amicably  to 
gether  two  else-unwilling  ones,  and  made  them  see 
how  bright  and  blessed  earth  may  become  in  pro 
nouncing  that  little  word — "  forgive." 


LIFE  AND  ITS  MYSTERIES. 


AS  there  ever  a  romance  in  that  man  or 
that  woman's  life  ?  I  used  to  ask  myself, 
as  I  looked  upon  a  hard  face  which  stoicism 
seemed  to  have  frozen  over,  through  the  long  years. 
"Was  there  ever  a  moment  when,  for  that  man,  or 
woman,  love  transfigured  everything,  or  the  want  of 
it  threw  over  the  wide  earth  the  pall  of  unrest  ? 
Have  they  ever  wept,  or  laughed,  or  sighed,  or 
clasped  hands  in  passionate  joy  or  sorrow  \  Had 
they  any  life  ?  Or  have  they  simply  vegetated  like 
animals  ?  Did  they  see  any  beauty  in  rock,  moun 
tain,  sky,  or  river,  or  was  this  green  earth  a  brows 
ing  place,  nothing  more  \ 

I  never  ask  those  questions  now ;  for  I  know  how 
much  fire  may  be  hidden  under  a  lava-crusted  ex 
terior.  I  know  that  though  the  treasure-chest  may 
sometimes  be  locked  when  it  is  empty,  oftener  be 
neath  the  fastening  lies  the  wealth,  which  the  right 
touch  can  at  any  moment  set  free.  There  are 
divers  masks  worn  in  this  harlequin  world  of  ours. 
Years  ago  I  met,  in  travelling,  a  lady  who  seemed 
to  me  the  very  embodiment  of  fun  and  frolic.  Like 
a  humming-bird,  she  never  was  still ;  alighting  now 
here,  now  there,  wheresoever  were  sunshine,  sweet- 


Life  and  its  Mysteries.  45 

ness  and  perfume.  One  day,  as  we  were  rambling 
in  the  woods,  we  sat  down  to  rest  under  a  tree,  after 
our  frolicking.  Some  little  word  of  mine,  as  I 
drew  her  head  into  my  lap,  and  smoothed  the  hair 
on  her  temples,  transformed  her.  With  a  sharp, 
quick  cry^  of  agony,  she  threw  her  arms  about  my 
neck,  weeping  as  I  never  saw  a  woman  weep. 
When  she  was  quiet  came  the-  sad  story.  The 
trouble  battled  with,  and  bravely  borne.  The  short, 
joyous  years — then  the  long  days,  and  nights,  and 
weeks,  and  months,  so  full  of  desolation  and  bitter 
ness,  and  life  yet  at  its  meridian.  How  should  she 
meet  the  long,  slow-moving  years?  That  was  the 
question  she  asked  me.  "  Tell  me  how !  you  who 
know — tell  me  how !  " 

And  this  was  the  woman  I  thought  frivolous  and 
pleasure-seeking.  Wearing  beneath  that  robe  the 
penitential  cross,  reminding  her  at  every  moment 
with  its  sharp  twinge  of  pain,  that  try  as  she  might, 
she  could  never  fly  from  herself. 

How  often,  when  I  have  been  inclined  to  judge 
harshly,  have  I  thought  of  that  Gethsemane  cry.  It 
is  sorrowful  how  we  misjudge  each  other  in  this 
busy  world.  How  very  near  we  may  be  to  a  warm 
heart,  and  yet  be  frozen  !  How  carelessly  we  pass 
by  the  pool  of  Bethesda,  with  its  waiting  crowd, 
without  thinking  that  we  might  be  the  angel  to 
trouble  the  waters  ?  This  thought  is  often  oppress 
ive  to  me  in  the  crowd  of  a  city  hurrying  home  at 
nightfall.  What  burden  does  this  man  or  that  wo 
man  carry,  known  only  to  their  Maker  ?  How 


40  Life  and  its  Mysteries. 

many  among  them  may  be  just  at  the  dividing  line 
between  hope  and  despair  !  And  how  some  faces 
remind  you  of  a  dumb  animal,  who  bears  its  pain 
meekly  and  mournfully,  yet  cringing  lest  some  care 
less  foot  should,  at  any  moment,  render  it  unendura 
ble  ;  haunting  you  as  you  go  to  your  home  as  if  you 
were  verily  guilty  in  ignoring  it. 

Have  you  never  felt  this?  and,  although  you  may 
have  been  cheated  and  imposed  upon  seventy  times 
seven,  can  you  wholly  stifle  it  ?  and  ought  you  to 
try,  even  though  you  know  how  well  the  devil  can 
wear  the  livery  of  heaven? 

I  think  it  is  this  that,  to  the  reflecting  and  ob 
serving,  makes  soul  and  body  wear  out  so  quickly  in 
the  city.  These  constantly  recurring,  unsolvable 
problems,  which  cloud  faith  and  make  life  terrible, 
instead  of  peaceful  and  sweet ;  which  lead  us  some 
times  to  look  upon  the  little  child,  so  dear  to  us, 
with  such  cowardly  fear,  that  it  would  be  a  relief  to 
lay  it,  then  and  there,  in  the  arms  of  the  Good 
Shepherd,  lest  it,  too,  stray  away  from  the  fold. 


SWEARERS  AND  SWEARING. — Profanity  is  such  a 
cheap  accomplishment !  "  Damme  ! "  "  Damn  it !  " 
The  idea  that  " gentlemen"  so  called,  should  use 
these  expletives,  in  which  the  commonest  laborer, 
who  can  scarcely  "  make  his  mark  "  to  a  document, 
can  excel  him!  As  a  matter  of  taste,  setting  aside 
any  question  of  morality,  the  practice  of  it  by  "  cul 
tivated  persons"  is  our  daily  wonder. 


MJRS.     WASHINGTON'S   ETERNAL 
KNITTING. 


'HERE  are  many-sided  men  and  women 
and  there  are  men  and  women  that  are 
one-sided,  both  in  brains  and  body.  There 
are  men  of  business  who  have  no  surplus  left  after 
attending  to  their  business.  There  are  women  who 
have  no  surplus  left  after  attending  to  their  kettles 
and  pans  and  their  mending  basket.  On  the  other 
hand,  there  are  men  whom  business  does  not  wholly 
absorb;  who  are  interested  intelligently,  and  ac 
tively,  too,  in  every  great  question  of  the  day  and 
hour.  There  are  women  who  order  their  houses 
discreetly,  tastefully,  and  economically,  and  can  yet 
converse  elegantly  and  with  knowledge  with  the 
most  cultured  persons  of  both  sexes. 

This  is  a  preface  to  some  little  remarks  of  mine 
on  an  article  lately  written  by  a  gentleman  in  one 
of'  our  Magazines,  on  the  wife  of  General  (Cherry- 
Tree)  Washington. 

This  writer  says  that  Mrs.  Washington's  "  knit 
ting  was  never  out  of  her  hands  ;  that  when  callers 
came,  the  click  of  her  needles  was  always  an  accom 
paniment  to  her  conversation.  That  she  deemed  it 


48    Mrs.    Wasliiuytorfs  Eternal  Knitting. 

a  privilege  to  attend  to  the  details  of  housekeeping, 
and  regarded  the  days  when  her  official  position 
required  her  presence  in  the  drawing-room  as  lost" 

Now  she  is  a  specimen  of  what  I  should  call  a 
one-sided  woman.  I  am  glad  she  was  an  accom 
plished  housekeeper,  and  better  still,  wras  not  above 
attending  to  her  duty  there.  It  was  splendid,  in 
her  high  position,  that  she  should  set  so  good  an 
example  in  this  regard.  But  it  was  not  good  to  keep 
her  needles  clicking  when  callers  ca'me,  as  if  to  say, 
You  are  an  intruder,  and  I  can  ill  endure  your 
presence.  This,  I  maintain,  was  neither  necessary 
nor  polite.  It  was  not  good  that  she  could  consider 
her  "drawing-room  days  "  as  lost,  and  not  perceive 
that  they  might  be  turned  to  account  in  elevating, 
as  an  intelligent  woman  can,  the  tone  of  the  society 
she  moved  in.  That  she  took  the  contrary  view  of 
it  shows,  to  my  thinking,  that  she  was  not  truly  an 
intelligent  woman.  I  believe  her  duty,  as  the  wife 
of  an  American  President,  lay  there  quite  as  much 
as  in  looking  over  her  household  economies.  But 
that  was  Then,  and  this  is  Now  !  In  those  days  one 
sided  men  and  women  were  plenty,  and  many-sided 
men  and  women  rare.  We  can  point  to-day  to 
many  glorious  examples  of  the  latter,  thank  Heaven. 

It  was  once  considered  a  disgrace  to  a  woman  to 
know  enough  to  spell  correctly  ;  and  if,  in  addition 
to  committing  this  indiscretion,  she  happened  to 
disgrace  herself  by  a  knowledge  of  French  or  Latin, 
let  her  never  speak  of  it,  lest  it  should  "  destroy  her 
chances  of  marriage."  The  idea  is  losing  ground 


Mrs.    Washington's  Eternal  Knitting.    49 

that  a  woman's  mentality  perils  puddings  and  sliirt- 
buttons.  There  have  been  too  many  shining,  taste 
ful  houses  and  well-ordered  tables  presided  over  by 
cultivated  women,  for  any  man  nowadays  to  drag 
up  that  old  fogyism,  without  raising  a  laugh  for  him 
self. 

When  I  read  this  article  about  Mrs.  Washington, 
who,  I  admit,  was  excellent  as  far  as  she  went,  I 
called  the  writer  to  an  account.  He  replied,  "  Oh, 
I  knew  you'd  pitch  into  me,  Fanny ; "  and  not 
liking  to  disappoint  him,  I  have. 


RELIGIOUS  TOLEEANCE. — It  would  do  no  harm  if 
Christians  who  are  disposed  to  judge  harshly  of 
each  other,  were  to  read  occasionally  the  accounts 
handed  down  to  us  of  enormities  committed  some 
centuries  ago,  and  even  in  later  years,  in  the  name 
of  religion,  upon  those  of  differing  creeds  ;  the  per 
petrators  sincerely  believing  at  the  time  that  they 
were  doing  God  service.  When  we  are  tempted  to 
shut  the  gate  of  heaven  in  any  f  cllow-mortal's  f  ace,  let 
us  recall  these  things,  at  which  humanity  and  Chris 
tianity  should  alike  shudder.  Said  a  good  old  man, 
in  dying,  of  a  son  who  had  embraced  another  faith 
than  that  taught  him,  "  Well,  it  matters  not  by  which 
road  John  gets  to  heaven,  if  he  only  reaches  it 
at  last."  It  seems  to  us  that  this,  taken  rightly,  is 
the  true  spirit. 
4 


THE  WOMAN  QUESTION. 

\ 
» 

HAYE  been  sitting  here,  enjoying  a  quiet 
laugh  all  by  myself,  over  a  pile  of  newspa 
pers  and  magazines,  in  which  the  "  Woman 
Question  "  was  aired  according  to  the  differing  views 
of  editors  and  writers.  One  gentleman  thinks  that 
the  reason  the  men  take  a  nap  on  the  sofa,  evenings 
at  home,  or  else  leave  it  to  go  to  naughty  places,  is 
because  there  are  no  Madame  De  Stacls  in  our  midst 
to  make  home  attractive.  He  was  probably  a  bach 
elor,  or  he  would  understand  that  when  a  man  who 
has  been  perplexed  and  fretted  all  day,  finally 
reaches  home,  the  last  object  he  wishes  to  encounter 
is  a  wide-awake  woman  of  the  Madame  De  Stael 
pattern,  propounding  her  theories  on  politics,  theol 
ogy,  and  literature.  The  veriest  idiot  who  should 
entertain  him  by  the  hour  with  tragic  accounts  of 
broken  tea-cups  and  saucepans,  would  be  a  blessing 
compared  to  her ;  not  that  he  would  like  that  either ; 
not  that  he  would  know  himself  exactly  what  he 
would  like  in  such  a  case,  except  that  it  should  be 
something  diametrically  opposite  to  that  which 
years  ago  he  got  on  his  knees  to  solicit. 

Another  writer  asserts  that  women's  brains  are 
too  highly  cultivated  at  the  present  day ;  and  that 
they  have  lost  their  interest  in  the  increase  of  the 


The   Woman  Question.  51 

census  ;  and  that  their  husbands,  not  sharing  their 
apathy,  hence  the  disastrous  result.  I  might  sug 
gest  in  answer  that  this  apathy  may  have  its  founda 
tion  in  the  idea  so  fast  gaining  ground — thanks  to 
club-life,  and  that  which  answers  to  it  in  a  less  fash 
ionable  strata  of  society — that  it  is  an  indignity  to 
expect  fathers  of  families  to  be  at  home,  save  occa 
sionally  to  sleep,  or  eat,  or  to  change  their  apparel ; 
and  that,  under  such  circumstances,  women  nat 
urally  prefer  to  be  the  mother  of  four  children,  or 
none,  than  to  engineer  seventeen  or  twenty  through 
the  perils  of  childhood  and  youth  without  assistance, 
co-operation,  or  sympathy. 

Another  writer  thinks  that  women  don't  "  smile  " 
enough  when  their  husbands  come  into  the  house  ; 
and  that  many  a  man  misses  having  his  shirt  or 
drawers  taken  from  the  bureau  and  laid  on  a  chair 
all  ready  to  jump  into  at  some  particular  day  or 
hour,  as  he  was  accustomed  when  he  lived  with 
some  pattern  sister  or  immaculate  aunt  at  home. 
This  preys  on  his  manly  intellect,  and  makes  life  the 
curse  it  is  to  him. 

Another  asserts  that  many  women  have  some  fe 
male  friend  who  is  very  objectionable  to  the  hus 
band,  in  exerting  a  pugilistic  effect  on  her  mind,  and 
that  he  flees  his  house  in  consequence  of  this  unholy 
influence ;  not  that  this  very  husband  wouldn't  bris 
tle  all  over  at  the  idea  of  his  wife's  court-martialing 
a  bachelor  or  benedict  friend,  for  the  same  reason  ; 
but  then  it  makes  a  difference,  you  know,  a  man  not 
being  a  woman. 


52  The   Woman  Question. 

Another  writer  asserts  that  nobody  yet  knows 
what  woman  is  capable  of  doing.  I  have  only  to 
reply  that  the  same  assertion  cannot  be  made  with 
regard  to  men,  as  the  dwellers  in  great  cities,  at 
least,  kiiowr  that  the  majority  of  them  are  capable  of 
doing  anything  that  the  devil  and  opportunity  favor. 

It  has  been  a  practice  for  years  to  father  every 
stupid  joke  that  travels  the  newspaper-round  on 
"  Paddy "— -poor  "Paddy."  In  the  same  way  it 
seems  to  me  that  for  every  married  man  now,  who 
proves  untrue  to  his  better  nature,  his  wife  is  to  be 
held  responsible.  It  is  the  old  cowardly  excuse  that 
the  first  man  alive  set  going,  and  which  has  been 
travelling  round  this  weary  world  ever  since.  "  The 
woman  thou  gavest  to  be  with  me  " — she  did  thus 
and  so ;  and  therefore  all  the  Adams  from  that  time 
down  have  whimpered,  torn  their  hair,  and  rushed 
forth  to  the  long-coveted  perdition,  over  the  bridge 
of  this  cowardly  excuse. 

One  of  the  sapient  advisers  of  women  ridicules 
the  idea  of  a  woman's  voting  till  she  has  learned  to 

O 

be  "  moderate  "  in  following  the  fashions  ;  moderate 
in  her  household  expenses ;  moderate  in  her  way 
of  dressing  her  hair ;  moderate  in  the  length  of  her 
party-robes  and  in  the  shortness  of  her  walking  cos 
tume.  Till  woman  has  attained  this  desirable  mod 
eration  he  declares  her  totally  unfit  for  the  ballot. 

Granted — for  the  sake  of  the  argument,  granted  ; 
but  as  it  is  a  poor  rule  that  won't  work  both  ways, 
suppose  we  determine  a  man's  fitness  for  the  ballot 
by  the  same  rule.  Let  not  his  short-tailed  coats  re- 


Tlie   Woman  Question.  53 

f use  to  be  sat  upon  by  the  fat  owner  thereof.  Let 
not  his  pantaloons  be  so  tight  that  he  cannot  stoop 
without  danger.  Let  not  his  overcoat  flap  against 
his  heels,  because  a  new-fangled  custom  demands  an 
extra  inch  or  two.  Let  not  the  crown  of  his  hat 
pierce  the  skies,  or  be  so  ridiculously  shallow  as  to 
convey  the  idea  that  it  belongs  to  his  little  son.  Let 
him  smoke  "  moderately."  Let  him  drink  "moder 
ately."  Let  him  drive  "moderately."  Let  him 
stock-gamble  "  moderately."  Let  him  stay  out  at 
night  "  moderately."  Let  him,  in  short,  prepare 
himself  by  a  severe  training  in  the  virtue  of  "  mod 
eration  "  for  the  privilege  of  casting  a  vote. 

Why,  there  is  not  a  man  in  the  land  who  wouldn't 
sniff  at  the  idea!  and  yet  I  supppose  it  never  oc 
curred  to  the  writer  of  this  advice  to  women  that  he 
was  uttering  impertinent  nonsense,  or  that  the  rules 
he  laid  down  were  quite  as  well  suited  to  his  own 
sex  as  to  ours. 

Every  day  I  see  gentlemen  who  are  as  much 
walking  advertisements  of  their  tailor's  last  exag 
gerated  fashion  as  any  foolish  woman  could  be  of 
her  dressmaker's  newly  fledged  insanity.  If  Bis 
marck  be  the  rage,  or  Metternich  green,  their  neck 
ties  and  gloves  slavishly  follow  Fashion's  behest. 
Hats,  coats,  trousers  are  long-tail  or  short,  tight  or 
loose,  as  she  bids  ;  and  that  whether  legs  are  straight 
or  crooked,  whether  the  outline  is  round  or  angular, 
whether  the  owner  looks  like  an  interrogation-point, 
or  a  tub  on  two  legs.  At  least  he  is  in  the  fashion 
— that  manly  thought  consoles  him. 


54  The   Woman  Question. 

If  "  moderation  "  in  smoking  were  tlie  test  of  fit 
ness  for  the  ballot-box,  how  many  men  do  you  think 
would  be  able  to  vote  ? 

Oh,  pshaw !  Advice  to  women  will  go  in  at  one 
ear  and  out  at  the  other,  while  male  advisers  are 
such  egregious  fools.  The  silliest  woman  who  ever 
cleaned  the  streets  with  her  silken  robe,  or  exhibited 
thick  ankles  in  a  short  one,  or  froze  her  ears  in  Jan 
uary  in  a  saucer  of  a  bonnet,  knows  that  she  can  find 
a  parallel  for  all  her  nonsense  in  the  male  side  of 
the  question.  Men  inhabit  too  many  glass-houses 
for  them  at  present  to  hurl  missiles  of  that  sort  at 
their  fair  neighbors.  Reform  yourselves,  gentle 
men.  You  who  are  so  much  mightier  and  stronger 
and  more  competent,  by  your  own  showing,  show 
us,  poor,  weak,  "grown-up  children  "  how  to  behave 
pretty ! 


A  WORD  FOR  THE  LITTLE  ONES. — Have  one  rough 
suit  for  your  little  ones,  this  summer,  to  tumble 
about  the  dirt  in.  The  amount  of  happiness  they 
will  get  out  of  that  rough  suit,  and  their  liberty  in 
it,  is  not  to  be  computed  by  any  parent's  arithmetic. 
Only  a  child  brought  up  to  city  pavements  and  fine 
clothes  can  add  up  that  sum.  Will  you  do  it, 
mothers  \  Just  for  this  one  summer,  if  no  more. 
Leave  off  for  a  time  the  sashes  and  laces,  and  let  the 
little  ones  get  happily,  and,  what  is  better,  healthily 
dirty. 


TWO  KINDS  OF  WIVES. 

)ME  writer  remarks,  "  We  blunder  fearfully 
with  our  domesticity  in  America.  Our 
wives  are  only  of  two  kinds :  the  family 
slave  on  one  hand  ;  the  frivolous  woman  of  fashion 
on  the  other  ! " 

"  Our  wives  !  "  As  a  woman  can't  have  a  "  wife," 
I  may  logically  infer  that  a  man  wrote  the  .above 
paragraph,  though  without  these  two  helping  words 
I  should  have  come  to  the  same  conclusion.  Now 
so  far  as  my  limited  knowledge  goes,  we  generally 
find  "  in  the  market "  that  which  is  oftenest  called 
for.  Put  that  down  in  your  memorandum  book, 
sir.  Men  are  but  just  beginning  to  find  out  that 
the  two  specimens  of  womankind  referred  to  arc 
much  more  difficult  to  get  along  with,  in  the  main, 
than  a  wroman  of  intelligence  and  mentality.  I  say 
they  are  just  'beginning  to  understand  it.  Men  are 
very  fond  of  the  results  that  the  "  family  slave  " 
brings  about,  in  the  shape  of  good  food  and  well- 
mended  clothes,  but  they  dodge  with  a  fox's  cun 
ning  the  creaking  and  jarring  of  the  machinery  by 
which  these  results  are  obtained.  They  never  want 
to  be  on  hand  when  any  process  of  disentanglement 
is  necessary  that  defies  temporarily  the  "  family 
slave."  Just  then  "  business  "  is  imperative — very 


56  Two  Kinds  of  Wives. 

likely  in  the  shape  of  a  journey — till  the  household 
machine  runs  smoothly  again ;  nor  does  he  care  to 
hear  how  it  is  done,  so  that  he  is  not  bothered 
about  it.  If  the  "  family  slave  "  gets  thinner  and 
thinner,  why,  it  is  because  "  she  takes  everything  so 
hardr  She  ought  not  to  take  things  hard  !  That's 
her  fault !  It  is  an  unfortunate  nervousness  which 
she  ought  to  try  to  get  rid  of,  because — it  worries 
him  !  She  is  "  no  companion  "  for  him — not  a  bit ! 
When  he  wants  to  be  amused,  she  is  too  tired  to  do 
it.  In  fact  she  don't  see  anything  to  be  amused  at. 
That  is  another  unfortunate  peculiarity  of  hers,  this 
looking  on  the  dark  side  of  things.  lie  don't  do  so. 
Not  he  !  lie  deplores  it  ;  he  sits  down  and  writes 
just  such  a  paragraph  as  I  have  just  quoted  above, 
like  the  consistent  man  he  is. 

I  once  heard  a  man  who  was  in  excellent  circum 
stances,  and  whose  young  wife,  just  recovered  from 
a  severe  illness,  had  taken  her  twelve-pound  baby  in 
her  weak  arms,  and  gone  into  the  country  for  a  few 
days,  remark,  as  she  left,  "  She  would  take  all  my 
old  trousers  with  her  to  mend — God  bless  her ! " 
adding,  hallelujah- wise,  "  There's  a  wife  for 
you  !  " 

Now  who  made  that  "  family  slave  "  ?  Because 
she  was  magnanimous  and  self -forgetful,  must  he 
need  be  a  brute  2  Women  must  take  care  of  them 
selves  in  these  matters.  They  must  husband  their 
strength  for  future  demands,  since  their  husbands 
won't  husband  it.  That  man  was  abundantly  able 
to  pay  a  tailor  or  a  seamstress  to  repair  his  clothes. 


Two  Kinds  of  Wives.  57 

Instead  of  contenting  himself  with.  God-blessing 
this  little  meek  wife,  he  should,  like  a  true  man, 
have  positively  forbidden  her  to  work  at  all,  in  this 
short  reprieve  from  hous3hold  care.  When  there  is 
nothing  left  of  her  but  one  front  tooth,  and  a  back, 
bent  like  the  letter  C,  he  will  contemplate  some 
round,  rosy  woman,  who  has  not  yet  met  her  doom, 
and  wonder  how  his  wife  came  "  to  lose  all  her  good 
looks  so  soon." 

As  to  "  fashionable  women,"  were  there  no  fash 
ionable  men,  I  don't  imagine  that  they  would  exist 
on  this  planet.  "  She  is  so  dowdy !  "  "  She  is  so 
stylish ! "  '  Do  you  suppose  the  women  who  hear 
these  masculine  comments  forget  them  ?  And  do 
you  suppose  when,  to  use  an  equine  expression,  you 
have  once  given  a  wife  "her  head,"  by  your  admir 
ation  of  "  style  "  and  fashion,  that  you  can  rein  her 
up  short,  whenever  you  take  a  notion  ?  Don't  she 
hear  you  sneering  at  intelligent  women,  and  don't 
she  see  you  flattering  fashionable  fools? 

Of  course  she  does.  Now  let  every  man  ask 
himself,  before  he  sits  down  to  write  against  the 
faults  and  follies  of  women,  what  he,  individually, 
has  done  to  form  and  perpetuate  them?  And  if 
ever,  in  his  whole  life,  when  he  saw  a  woman 
wronging  her  better  self  in  any  way,  he  extended  a 
manly,  brotherly  hand  to  her,  in  the  endeavor  to 
lead  her  right?  or,  if  he  did  not,  on  the  contrary, 
join  her,  arid  walk  with  her,  well  pleased,  in  her  own 
ill-selected  path. 


UNDERTAKERS'     SIGNS    ON 
CHURCHES. 

\ 

IT  may  strike  you  pleasantly,  but  when  1  am 
about  to  enter  a  church,  the  conspicuous  in 
telligence  upon  its  outside  walls,  that  the 
"  undertaker  may  be  found  at  such  a  street,"  is 
anything  but  a  pleasant  announcement.  Now  not 
being  myself  a  theologian  of  that  school  which  com 
pels  a  smiling  countenance  to  be  left  at  the  porch 
of  the  "  meetin'-house,"  I  can,  therefore,  by  ho 
means  indorse  any  gloomy  surroundings,  outside  or 
inside. 

One  of  the  principal  articles  of  my  creed  is,  that 
Sunday  should  be  the  pleasautest  day  of  all  the 
week.  When  I  open  my  eyes  to  its  dawn,  I  always 
rejoice,  if  instead  of  a  gray,  cloudy  sky,  it  be  a' 
lovely  blue,  and  the  sun  be  shining  brightly  ;  I  think 
upon  the  thousands  to  whom  this  day  is  the  only  leisure 
day  of  all  the  seven ;  the  thousands  who,  without  this 
blessed  rest,  would  scarcely  have  time  to  look  upon  the 
faces  of  wife  or  children  ;  scarcely  time  to  receive  the 
regenerating  caresses  of  little  twining  arms,  or  hear 
the  recital  of  little  griefs  and  joys  which  it  is  so 
blessed  to  share  with  one  who  never  wearies  in  the 
hearing,  and  to  whose  fatherly  ear  nothing  a  little 
child  can  say  is  "  trifling."  It  is  blessed  to  me  to 


Undertaker  g  Signs  on  Churches.      59 

think  of  the  thousand  humble  homes  where  the  Sab 
bath  sun  shines  upon  just  such  a  scene  as  this ; 
preaching  through  the  family  this  simple  gospel : 
that  the  humblest  have  those  for  whom  they  must 
strive  to  leave  the  legacy  of  a  good  and  honest 
name.  Now  when  a  working-man,  with  his  heart 
full  of  love  and  happiness,  walks  forth  on  a  Sunday 
morning,  do  you  think  it  wise  when  he  approaches 
a  church  to  shake  a  coffin  in  his  face  1  Had  I  my 
way,  I  would  tear  these  undertaker-placards  all 
down  to-morrow,  and  instead,  I  would  write  this, 
"  Strangers  furnished  with  free  seats  here  every 
Sunday."  Were  I  a  clergyman,  an  undertaker 
should  no  more  use  my  church  walls  to  advertise  his 
business,  than  the  upholsterer  who  furnished  the 
pew-cushions,  or  the  bookseller  who  provided  the 
hymn-books,  or  the  man  who  found  the  gas-fixtures. 
Ah !  but  you  say  it  is  very  convenient  to  know 
where  the  sexton  lives.  Yery  well,  so  it  is  ;  but  let 
him  advertise  in  the  papers,  as  other  people  do,  who 
have  no  convenient  church  walls  to  save  their  ad 
vertising  fees.  The  truth  is,  that  the  whole  under 
taker  business,  as  at  present  managed,  is  monstrously 
mis-managed.  The  other  day,  in  one  of  our  streets, 
I  saw  an  oyster  shop  with  heaps  of  bivalves  curiously 
arranged  in  the  window,  over  which  was  written : 
"  Live  and  let  live"  Next  door,  being  an  under 
taker,  he  had  piled  ostentatiously  his  wares,  consist 
ing  of  heaps  of  "  fancy  coffins,"  in  his  show-window. 
If  he  had  only  copied  his  bivalve-neighbor,  so  far  as 


GO       Undertaker  £  Signs  on  Churches. 

to  write  over  the  window,  Die  and  let  die,  the  farce 
would  have  been  complete. 

They  who  please  may  sniff  at  Sunday.  To  us  it 
is  a  blessed  reprieve  from  care  and  business,  and 
worry  of  every  sort.  The  very  putting  on  of  the 
fresh,  clean,  "  best "  raiment,  is  suggestive  of  best 
thoughts  and  best  feelings  for  all  whom  we  meet,  and 
more  than  all,  for  the  clear  ones  at  home,  whose 
happiness  it  is  ours  to  make  or  to  mar.  Then  the 
sweet,  soothing  hymn  and  the  pleading  prayer  ;  and 
the  sermon,  in  which  it  were  hard,  as  a  rule,  to  find 
nothing  that  we  could  not  take  home  with  us  for 
our  improvement  and  self-help.  Then  the  pleasant 
family  group  at  table,  where  the  children  should  be. 
Ah !  we  are  glad  for  this  blessed  Sunday,  let  him 
wrho  will,  decry  or  pervert  it. 


A  PITIABLE  SIGHT. — There  is  no  more  pitiable 
sight  than  that  of  a  husband  and  father  reeling  home 
at  the  end  of  the  week,  having  left  the  greater  part 
of  his  week's  wages  at  some  drinking  saloon.  AVc 
think  of  the  patient,  toiling  wife  and  hungry  chil 
dren,  and  the  miserable  Sunday,  and  the  coming 
week  in  store  for  them,  and  the  utter  hopelessness 
of  their  future  lot,  and  can  find  no  words  of  denun 
ciation  strong  enough  for  the  man  who  grows  rich 
by  tempting  a  brother's  weakness,  knowing,  when 
he  does  so,  that  for  his  victim  there  is  in  this  world 
no  redemption. 


A    VOICE  FROM  THE  SKATING 
POND. 


JOATS    and    trousers    have   the  best  of  it 
everywhere,  I  exclaimed,  for  the  thousandth 
time,  as  I  looked  at  the  delightful  spectacle 
of  the  male  and  female  skaters  at  the  Central  Park. 
Away  went  coat  and  trousers,  like  a  feather  before 
the  wind ;  free,  and  untrammelled  by  dry-goods,  and 
independent  of  any  chance  somerset ;  while  the  poor, 
skirt-hampered  women  glided  circumspectly  after 
their  much-needed  health  and  robustness,  with  that 
awful  omnipresent  sense  of  the  proprieties,  (and — 
horror  of  horrors — a  tumble !)  which  sends  more  of 
the   dress-fettered   sex  to  their  graves  every  year 
than  any  disease  I  wot  of.     That  a  few  women 
whom  I  saw  there  had  had  the  perseverance  to  be 
come  tolerable  skaters,  with  all  that  mass  of  dry- 
goods  strung  round  their  waists,  is  infinitely  to  their 
credit.     How  much  longer  and  better  they  could 
have   skated,  disembarrassed,  as  men  are,  of  these 
swaddling  robes,  common  sense  will  tell  anybody. 
I  should  like  to  see   how  long  a  man's  patience 
would  hold  out,  floundering  round  in  them,  while 
he  learned  to  skate !     And  yet  were  a  lady  to  adopt 
any  other  costume,  how  decent  soever,  or  how  emi 
nently  soever  befitting  the  occasion,  what  a  rolling 


62      A  Voice  from  the  Skating  Pond. 

of  eyes  and  pursing  of  months  should  we  see  from 
the  strainers  at  gnats  and  swallowers  of  camels. 
All  these  thoughts  passed  through  my  mind  as  I 
mixed  in  with  the  merry  crowd  on  that  bracing 
winter  day,  whose  keen  breath  was  like  rare  old 
wine,  so  did  it  stir  and  warm  the  blood  ;  and  I 
wondered,  as  I  gazed  at  those  dress-fettered  women, 
whether  those  heathen  nations  who  strangled  their 
female  babies  at  birth  were  as  naughty  as  we  had 
been  told  they  were  ! 

"  Why  don't  you  get  up  a  skating  costume, 
Fanny,  and  set  them  an  example  ?  "  whispers  a  voice 
at  my  elbow.  Me  f  why  don't  If  Because,  sir, 
custom  has  made  me  a  poor,  miserable  coward  in 
these  matters,  like  the  rest  of  my  sex,  and  because, 
moreover,  sir,  you  would  have  no  more  courage  to 
walk  by  my  side  in  such  a  costume,  than  I  should 
have  to  wear  it.  No,  no  :  a  crowd  of  curious  men 
in  my  wake  would  be  no  more  agreeable  in  reality 
than  it  is  in  perspective.  It  is  brave  talking,  I 
know,  but  the  time  has  not  yet  come  when  men,  by 
refraining  from  rude  remarks  on  a  female  pioneer 
in  such  a  cause,  would  remove  one  of  the  chief  ob 
stacles  to  its  advancement.  They  "  like  healthy 
women  " — oh,  of  course  they  do !  but  then,  unfor 
tunately,  they  like  dainty  prettiness  of  attire  much 
better.  Else,  why  don't  they  encourage  women 
when  they  try  to  do  a  sensible  thing  ?  Why  do  they 
grin,  and  stroke  their  beards,  and  shrug  their 
shoulders,  and  raise  their  eyebrows,  and  go  home  to 
Jane  Maria,  and  say,  "  Let  me  catch  you  out  in  such 


A  Voice  from  the  Skating  Pond.      63 

a  costume"?  Till  all  that  is  clone  away  with,  we 
must  be  content  to  see  puny,  waxy-looking  children, 
arid  read  in  "  Notes  on  America  "  the  usual  number 
of  stereotyped  pages  on  "  the  fragility  of  our  women." 
Now,  let  me  say  in  closing  that  I  don't  wish  to  be 
misunderstood  on  this  matter.  I  approve  of  no 
costume  which  a  delicate-minded,  self-respecting, 
dignified  woman  might  'not  wear  in  public.  But  I 
will  insist  that  nothing  can  be  done  in  the  way  of 
reform,  while  husbands  and  fathers  and  brothers 
sniff  the  whole  subject  "  under  the  table  "  as  soon 
as  it  is  mentioned.  May  every  one  of  them  have  a 
yearly  doctor's  bill  to  pay  as  long  as  the  moral 
law! 


BEAEING  TROUBLE. — There  are  persons  who 
emerge  from  every  affliction  and  trouble  and  vexa 
tion,  purified  like  fine  gold  from  out  the  furnace. 
There  are  others,  and  they  are  the  more  numerous, 
who  are  imbittered  and  soured,  and  made  despond 
ent  and  apathetic.  We  think  the  latter  belong  to 
the  class  who  try  to  stand  alone  during  these  storms 
of  life,  instead  of  looking  above  for  aid.  When  one 
can  truly  say,  "  He  doeth  all  things  well,"  the  sting 
is  taken  out  of  affliction,  the  tears  are  dried,  and  the 
courage  given  to  bear  what  the  future  has  in  store. 
This,  we  think,  makes  the  great  difference  between 
these  two  classes. 


THE  SIN  OF  BEING  SICK. 


WISH  women  could  be  made  to  under 
stand  the  importance  of  flannel  under-cloth 
ing,  and  warm  outer-clothing,  and  com 
mon-sense  generally  in  food  and  exercise,  when 
they  talk  about  longing  to  have  a  "  profession  "  or  a 
"  career."  Not  .that  good  health  should  not  always 
be  a  sort  of  religion  with  them;  but  they  should 
remember  that  what  failings  soever  men  may  have, 
as  a  general  tiling  they  are  not  such  fools  as  to 
shiver  in  insufficient  clothing  when  other  may  be 
had,  or  to  go  with  wet  or  cold  feet,  because  thick 
stockings  "fill  up  the  boot,"  or  reject  thick-soled 
boots  because  they  make  the  feet  look  a  size  or  two 
larger.  They  do  not,  either,  think  it  attractive  to 
bare  their  throats  and  necks  to  a  biting  wind  in  the 
street,  thus  inviting  a  blue  nose  and  the  pitying  con 
tempt  of  every  beholder.  Woman's  great  foe, 
"headache,"  is  surely  invited  and  perpetuated  by 
these  follies,  even  if  no  worse  punishment  follows. 
"  I  am  so  shivery  all  over  !  "  you  will  hear  these  silly 
creatures  exclaim,  and  the  red  and  white  located  in 
the  wrong  spots  in  their  faces  attest  the  truth  of  it. 
One  would  think  that,  as  a  matter  upon  which  their 
much-valued  good  looks  depend,  they  would  "  con- 


The  Sin  of  Being  Side.  65 

sider  their  ways,  and  be  wise  ;  "  but  no.  After  this 
they  come  in  and  call  for  some  Ci  hot,  strong  tea." 
Tea !  that  womarfs  dram !  morning,  noon,  and 
night.  It  makes  her  "  feel  like  another  being,"  she 
says.  I'm  sure  it  makes  her  act  like  one.  This 
lasts  an  hour,  perhaps ;  then  she  has  such  a  "  gnaw 
ing  at  her  stomach."  Then  follows  depression  after 
the  exhilaration.  Then  she  eats  nothing,  because 
she  has  "no  appetite."  Then — another  cup  of  tea, 
to  "  set  her  up,"  as  she  calls  it. 

I  should  like  to  see  such  a  woman  having  any 
"career,"  except  fitting  herself  speedily  for  a  luna 
tic  asylum.  Such  a  course  is  reprehensible  and 
suicidal  enough,  when  good  food  is  at  hand  and 
enough  of  it,  and  the  women  who  practise  it  have 
money  enough  to  pay  a  doctor  to  come  and  see  them, 
and  tell  them  lies,  and  give  them  nice  messes  to  make 
believe  cure  them.  But  unfortunately  our  working 
girls  and  women,  who  have  only  a  hospital  bed  to 
look  forward  to  when  sick,  go  on  after  the  same 
crazy  fashion.  There  is  some  shadow  of  excuse  writh 
them  for  their  intemperate  use  of  tea  ;  the  horrible 
fare  of  their  boarding-places  being  so  unpalatable 
and  disgusting,  and  their  long  hours  of  labor  so 
exhaustive  and  discouraging"  that  this  stimulant  has 

O        O 

become  seemingly  necessary  to  their  existence — the 
one  bit  of  comfort  and  luxury  that  they  look  for 
ward  to  with  eagerness  in  the  interval  of  work.  "  I 
can't  do  without  it,"  said  a  young  shop-girl  to  me, 
when  I  remonstrated  with  her  on  its  use,  morning, 
noon,  and  night.  "  I  couldn't  do  my  work  without 
5 


66  The  Sin  of  Being  Sick. 

it."  And  how  did  she  spend  the  wages  received  for 
*'  her  work  "  ?  In  a  flimsy,  showy  dress ;  in  a  gay 
hat;  in  a  fashionable  pair  of  boots  with  high  heels. 
Meantime  she  had  no  flannel ;  she  had  no  thick 
boots ;  she  had  no  warm  outer  garments ;  she  had 
nothing  to  insure  either  health  or  comfort,  and  she 
was  in  the  same  alternatives  of  exhilaration  and  de 
pression  as  her  richer  sisters  of  whom  I  have  spoken. 
I  don't  know  why,  either,  that  I  should  call  them 
"richer,"  except  that  they  could  have  a  rosewood 
coffin  with  silver  nails,  and  be  buried  in  a  fashion 
able  cemetery,  while  the  working-girl  would  have  a 
pine  one,  arid  sleep  her  long  sleep  in  the  Potter's 
Field.  Oh,  dear !  I  see  all  these  abuses,  and  I  ex 
claim,  Oh,  the  rare  and  priceless  blessings  of  good 
health  and  common-sense !  How  I  wish  that  every 
clergyman  in  our  land — only  that  I  know  that  in 
many  cases  they  are  as  great  sinners  themselves  in 
the  matter  of  health — would  preach  on  the  sin  of 
being  sick. 

Now  there's  a  topic  for  those  of  them  who  have 
the  face  to  speak  of  it,  and  a  clear  conscience  to 
bear  them  out  in  it.  For  those  of  them  who  don't 
sit  in  their  libraries  smoking  till  you  can't  see  across 
it,  when  they  should  be  knocking  about  in  the  open 
air,  cultivating  a  breezy,  sunny,  healthful  state  of 
mind  and  body — just  the  same  as  if  they  were  lay 
men,  instead  of  "  ministers,"  whom  the  devil  desires, 
of  all  things,  to  see  solemn  and  dj^speptic. 

I  lately  read  an  article  in  one  of  our  papers 
headed,  "  Have  we  a  Healthy  Woman  among  us  ?  " 


The  Sin  of  Bemcj  Sick.  67 

I  fully  indorse  what  the  writer  says  as  to  the  mar 
vellous  amount  of  invalidism  among  our  girls  and 
women,  and  I  deplore  it  as  sincerely  as  he  does. 
But  let  us  have  fair  play  011  this  subject.  If  there 
are  few  of  them  who  ever  ought  to  be  wives  and 
mothers,  I  ask,  how  much  better  qualified — physi 
ologically  speaking — are  the  young  men  of  the  pres 
ent  day  to  be  husbands  and  fathers?  Go  to  any 
physician  of  large  practice  and  experience,  and  if 
he  answers  you  frankly  and  truthfully,  you  will 
learn  that  it  is  six  of  one  and  half  a  dozen  of  the 
other.  When  boys  of  eight  and  twelve  go  to  school 
with  a  satchel  in  one  hand  and  a  cigar  in  the  other, 
I  wouldn't  give  much  for  their  future  vitality,  even 
without  leaving  a  margin  for  other  violations  of  the 
laws  of  health.  It  would  be  well,  while  publicly 
deploring  "  tight  lacing "  and  "  tight  shoes "  for 
girls,  privately  to  inquire  about  the  practice  of 
smoking  for  boys  in  short-jackets.  To  be  sure,  I 
cannot  see  with  what  face  a  father,  who  is  himself  a 
bond-slave  to  this  habit,  can  ask  his  boy  to  refrain 
from  doing  that  which  he,  as  a  man,  has  not  had 
self-control  enough  to  accomplish.  But  don't  let 
him  then  write  or  speak  dolefully  about  the  miser 
able  ill-health  of  our  girls  and  women,  not,  at  least, 
till  he  moves  out  of  his  own  "  glass-house."  If  the 
truthful  inscriptions  were  placed  upon  the  myriad 
little  graves  in  our  cemeteries,  it  would  be  fathers, 
not  mothers,  in  many  cases,  who  could  not  read  them 
without  pangs  of  remorse. 

The  day  will,  I  hope,  come,  when  the  marriage 


68  The  Sin  of  Being  SlcL 

question  will  cease  to  be  decided  by  Cupid  or  cupid 
ity  ;  when  parents,  and  lovers,  themselves,  will  con 
sider  a  sound,  healthy  body  to  be  of  primary  import 
ance.  Oh  !  the  weary  years  of  watching  and  dosing 
and  misery  for  two,  consequent  upon  the  neglect  of 
this  precaution  !  Oh !  the  army  of  puny  and  idiotic 
children,  doomed,  if  they  live  to  adult  years,  to  be  a 
blight  in  themselves  and  to  all  around  them  !  And 
how  distressing  is  it  to  see  a  wife,  made  gloriously  as 
a  woman  should  be,  with  a  broad  chest,  a  free,  firm, 
graceful  step  and  a  beaming  face,  married  to  a  man 
whose  only  claim  to  be  a  living  being  is,  that  he  lias 
not  yet  ceased  to  breathe!  And  still  as  mournful  is 
it,  to  look  at  a  kingly  man,  whose  very  presence  is 
so  full  of  life  that  it  is  like  stepping  from  a  close 
room  into  the  glad,  free,  balmy  sunshine  even  to 
come  where  he  is,  married  to  a  little  pink-eyed, 
feeble  dwarf  of  a  creature,  with  little  paws  like  a 
bird's,  and  not  life  enough  left  even  to  chirp  to  him. 

"  "Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it  ? "  as 
the  pre-Raphaelite  friend  asked  of  a  disconsolate 
widow  who  kept  on  crying  for  her  dead  husband. 

That's  just  the  point  where  I  want  to  bring  you, 
my  reader.  I  want  you  individually  to  look  first 
for  good  health  in  the  chosen  wife  who  is  to  be  the 
mother  of  your  children.  And  you,  young  girl, 
look  first  for  that  rarity,  a  clean  Mil  of  health,  with 
your  future  husband.  A  brown-stone  house  and  a 
carriage  and  livery  are  nothing  to  it.  Take  my  ad 
vice.  Don't  take  copper  for  gold  on  the  health 
question,  and  dorit  give  it. 


ARE  MINISTERS  SERFS? 


hear  a  great  outcry  occasionally  about 
"  ministers  who  work  outside  of  their  pro 
fession,"  as  it  is  called — that  is,  in  the  lecture 
field,  or  in  writing  newspaper  or  magazine  articles 
for  pay,  or  in  editing  newspapers  ;  and  this  although 
the  ministers  thus  censured  are  faithful  to  their 
pastoral  duties,  and  bring  forth  every  Sunday,  and 
during  the  week,  fresh,  vigorous  thoughts  for  the 
profit  and  pleasure  of  these  complainers. 

Now  in  our  view  this  is  a  great  impertinence. 

Suppose  a  clergyman  has  a  decrepit  mother  or 
sister,  whose  only  pecuniary  reliance  ^  is  himself  \ 
Suppose  he  is  not  willing,  from  delicacy  toward 
them,  to  turn  his  family  affairs  inside  out,  and  ex 
plain  why  he  does  this  "  outside  work,"  which  may 
enable  him  to  meet  this  or  some  similar  outside  de 
mand  ?  Is  it  properly  anybody's  business  ?  If  he 
do  not  defraud  his  parish,  have  they  any  right  to 
hold  a  coroner's  inquest  over  his  "  outside  "  earnings 
and  their  possible  appropriation  ?  How  would  his 
deacons  or  church-members  stand  such  a  scrutiny 
over  their  own  private  affairs  ?  We  think  that  the 
"  old  Adam  "  in  them  would  soon  rear  and  plunge 
at  it.  Well,  ministers  are  men  too,  though  you 


70  Are  Ministers  Serfs? 

sometimes  seem  to  forget  it ;  and  they  don't  like  it 
either.  The  parish  has  not  purchased  their  souls, 
as  I  understand  it,  no  more  than  have  husbands 
those  of  their  wives.  Let  us  hope,  in  this  enlight 
ened  age,  that  neither  are  serfs.  Let  us  hope  that 
all  ministers,  and  all  wives  too,  all  over  the  land, 
may  honestly  and  innocently  earn  money,  and  keep 
it  in  a  private  purse  too,  without  accounting  to 
either  the  parish  or  their  husbands  for  the  expendi 
ture  of  the  same  ;  or  without,  in  either  case,  causing 
unfounded  suspicion  or  breach  of  the  peace,  or  offi 
cious  meddling,  no  more,  in  my  opinion,  to  be  justi 
fied,  than  as  if  the  "  boot  was  on  the  other  foot," 
where  Mrs.  Grundy  would  consider  it  a  great  wrong 
to  place  it,  or  to  insist  upon  its  being  worn,  regard 
less  of  the  limping  or  contortions  of  the  wearers. 

Before  either  parishes  or  husbands  complain  of 
outside  honest  earnings,  let  them  inquire  if  the  sal 
aries  they  give  are  just  and  ample.  Let  them  both 
inquire  whether  the  objection  they  have  to  outside 
earning  in  both  cases,  does  not  mainly  arise  from 
the  fear  that  the  curious  public  will  imagine  that 
they  are  not. 

Of  course,  in  saying  all  this,  I  am  referring  to 
those  clergymen  and  those  married  women  who  are 
sensible  and  judicious,  as  well  as  blessed  with  abil 
ity,  and  it  is  my  opinion  that  Mrs.  Grundy  has  med 
dled  long  enough  with  the  proper  independence  and 
self-respect  of  both. 

One  thing  I've  forgotten,  namely,  parishes  are  not 
to  suppose  that  an  increase  of  a  clergyman's  salary 


Are  Ministers  Serfs  ?  71 

is  to  padlock  his  lips  afterward,  if  he  is  requested,  or 
if  he  feels  inclined,  to  deliver  his  sentiments,  even 
"  for  pay,"  on  the  platform,  as  well  as  in  the  pulpit 
they  have  called  him  to  fill.  JSTor  after  that,  are 
they  to  handcuff  him  either,  lest  he  should  write  a 
line  "  for  pay  "  in  a  paper  or  magazine  ?  In  short, 
do  try  to  be  willing  that  your  "  minister "  should 
stand  np  straight  like  any  other  man,  and  not  go 
cringing  round  the  world  a  bought  serf,  with  his 
"  white  choker"  for  a  badge  of  the  same.  I'm  sick 
of  seeing  it.  If  I  were  a  minister,  it  would  take  all 
the  religion  I  could  muster  to  keep  me  from  saying 
wicked  words  about  it. 

"  Our  minister  was  away  six  weeks  this  summer," 
said  a  person  complainingly,  the  other  day.  Well, 
are  not  ministers  human  ?  Must  they  not  eat,  drink, 
rest,  sleep,  sorrow  and  grieve, .like  other  mortals'? 
Have  they  not,  in  addition  to  all  this,  a  constant  and 
exhaustive  demand  upon  their  sympathies  for  the 
griefs  of  other  people  ?  And  must  they  not  con 
stantly  be  racking  their  brains,  in  and  out  of  the 
pulpit,  to  have  all  their  words  set  fitly,  like  "  apples 
of  gold  in  pictures  of  silver"  ?  And  is  it  not  better 
that  a  minister  should  rest  "  six  weeks  "  than  be  laid 
useless  upon  the  shelf  for  six  months,  or  that  his 
voice  should  be  silenced  forever  because  of  the  ex 
actions  of  the  unthinking  portion  of  his  hearers  ? 
And  would  it  not  be  well  if  the  persons  thus  com 
plaining  spent  the  time  instead  in  looking  to  it  that 
they  had  profited  by  what  they  had  already  heard  ? 

Whatever  else  you  grudge,  never  grudge  a  good, 
faithful  minister  a  breathing  spell. 


BLAMING    PROVIDENCE    FOE     OUR 
OWN  FAULTS. 


is  said  to  have  lost  a  "battle  on 
account  of  an  underdone  leg  of  mutton. 
Now,  there  are  many  who,  shaking  their 
heads,  would  say,  it  was  "  an  overruling  Provi 
dence."  I  have  to  smile  sometimes  at  poor  "  Provi 
dence  "  —  that  convenient  scapegoat  for  all  the  hu 
man  stupidity  extant  ;  —  who  kills  little  babies,  and 
puts  a  tombstone  over  young  girls  who  should  have 
lived  to  be  the  healthy  mothers  of  healthy  sons  and 
daughters.  This  "  All-wise  Providence,"  who,  as 
some  would  have  us  believe,  is  malignantly  and  per 
petually  employed  in  tripping  up  the  heels  of  hu 
man  beino-s  for  the  benefit  of  the  undertaker  —  what 

c> 

a  convenient  theology  for  bad  cooks,  for  unwise 
school-teachers,  for  selfish,  careless,  ignorant  pa 
rents  ! 

Now  "  Providence  "  does  no  such  things.  Prov 
idence  approves  of  live,  fat,  rollicking  babies  ;  of 
deep-chested  women  ;  of  round,  healthy  girls  ;  of 
muscular  men  ;  and  sound  physical  specimens  of 
every  kind.  Bless  you:  —  lie  don't  bend  spines,  nor 
make  drunkards,  nor  thieves,  nor  write  a  shameful 
history  on  the  pure  brow  of  any  woman  who  ever 
has  or  ever  shall  live  ;  lie  don't  ordain  perpendicular 


Blaming  Providence.  73 

ghosts  of  ministers,  to  defile  sepulchrally  through 
creation,  and  scare  people  into  heaven.  He  don't 
smile  on  those  suicidal  mothers,  who  run  breathlessly 
round  and  round  the  nursery  treadmill,  thinking 
they  are  doing  God  service,  till  they  drop  dead  in 
the  harness,  and  leave  eight  or  nine  children  mother 
less,  at  an  age  when  they  most  need  maternal  guid 
ance.  He  don't  manufacture  scrofulous  constitu 
tions  out  of  unwholesome  food,  and  bad  ventilation, 
and, dissipated  habits.  It  is  not  one  of  the  ten  com 
mandments  that  babies  should  be  taught  Greek  and 
Latin  before  they  have  cut  their  teeth,  that  they 
may  become  idiots  before  maturity;  or  that  school 
boys  should  smoke  pipes  and  cigars  ;  or  that  school 
girls  should  drink,  strong  coffee  for  breakfast,  and 
eat  rich  pastry  and  pickles  for  luncheon.  It  is  high 
time  that  people  shouldered  their  own  sins,  and 
called  things  by  their  right  names,  and  told  the 
truth  at  funerals,  and  on  tombstones,  if  they  must 
say  anything  there.  In  my  opinion,  an  "All-wise 
and  inscrutable  Providence"  has  borne  quite  blas 
phemy  enough  in  this  way. 


A    CHAPTER   ON  NURSES. 

anybody  tell  why  nurses   are  fat?     Is 


^~,yj  there  anything  in  the  atmosphere  of  a  sick 
N^  room,  or  in  the  sight  of  phials,  pills,  leeches, 
potions,  blisters,  and  plasters  to  give  one  an  appe 
tite  ?  I  solemnly  affirm  that  I  never  saw  a  bony 
nurse — never.  There's  a  horrid  mystery  about  it 
which  I  have  in  vain  tried  to  solve.  With  what  a 
lazy  waddle  they  roll  round  the  apartment,  and  how 
your  flesh  creeps  as  they  fix  their  unsympathizing 
eyes  upon  you;  you  are  so  sure  that  they  had  just 
as  lief  bring  you  your  shroud  as  a  clean  nightcap ; 
that  it  is  quite  immaterial  to  them  whether  the  next 
thing  that  comes  through  the  door  is  a  bowl  of  gruel 
or  your  coffin  ;  in  fact,  that  they  would  be  im 
mensely  gratified  if  you'd  hurry  up  your  dying,  and 
let  them  off  to  the  pleasurable  excitement  of  a  new 
subject. 

And  then  that  professional  sniffle  when  a  visitor 
asks,  "  How  is  your  patient,  nurse  ? "  It  is  a  poor 
satisfaction,  to  make  faces  at  her  under  the  sheet, 
as  she  answers  ;  but  I  have  done  it ;  I  shouldn't  be 
surprised  now,  if  you  thought  that  was  unamiable. 
Ah!  you  never  had  her  twitch  down  the  curtain 
over  a  lovely  sunset,  that  was  soothing  you  like  a 


A   Chapter  on  Nurses.  75 

cool  hand  on  your  forehead,  and  light  a  little,  nasty 
"  nurse-lamp,"  merely  because  she  knew  you  hadn't 
strength  enough  to  say,  "  Please  don't."  A  nurse- 
lamp  !  that  you  have  contemplated  night  after  night 
in  the  silent,  dreary  watches,  till  it  seemed  like  an 
evil  eye,  glimmering  and  glowing,  fascinating  you 
in  spite  of  yourself,  till  the  perspiration  stood  in 
cold  drops  on  your  forehead,  while  the  watch  went 
"  tick,"  "  tick,"  and  the  fat,  old  nurse  snored  away, 
and  each  nerve  in  your  body  seemed  a  separate  and 
more  perfect  engine  of  torture.  No  wonder  you 
hate  to  see  her  unnecessarily  shorten  the  daylight 
and  repeat  the  horror.  But  she'll  do  it ;  of  course 
she'll  do  it.  If  you  had  not  wanted  her  to,  you 
should  have  told  her  that  of  all  sublunary  things, 
you  fancied  a  night-lamp.  Now  I  leave  it  to  you, 
if,  after  that  and  kindred  crucifixions  of  momentary 
occurrence,  you  could  stand  that  pious  sniffle  with 
which  she  answers  the  question,  "  How  is  your 
patient,  nurse  ?  " 

And  then,  if  she  wouldn't  be  so  excruciatingly 
officious  at  such  a  time,  one  might  swallow  one's 
disgust.  If,  when  a  visitor  comes  in,  she  wouldn't 
twitch  your  pillow  from  under  your  head,  just  as  you 
are  knowing  your  first  comfortable  moment,  and 
giving  it  a  shake  and  a  pat,  thrust  it  under  your 
head  again,  forcing  your  chin  down  into  your  breast 
bone,  and  half  dislocating  your  neck,  just  to  show 
them  how  attentive  she  is ;  if  she  wouldn't  strip 
down  the  blanket,  or  pile  on  a  dozen  quilts,  when 
you  are  just  the  right  temperature,  for  the  same  rea- 


76  A  Chester  on  Nurses. 

son,  I  think  it  would  be  more  jolly.  Then  if,  after 
all  that,  she  wouldn't  stand,  and  keep  standing,  so 
near  the  corner  of  your  mouth,  that  you  couldn't 
call  her  some  "  rantankerous  "  name  by  way  of  re 
lief  ;  though,  at  another  time,  when  you  were  dying 
for  -a  glass  of  water,  she'd  leave  you  all  alone  .and 
take  half  an  hour  to  get  it ;  if  she  wouldn't  do  all 
these  things ;  but  she  will.  She  grows  fat  on 
thwarting  her  patients  :  1  know  it.  Of  course,  if 
your  strength  equalled  your  disgust,  you  wouldn't  ~be 
thwarted ;  you'd  obstinately  persist  in  admiring 
everything  she  did,  though  she  should  comb  your 
hair  with  a  red-hot  poker,  but  being  sick  and  baby 
ish,  one  can  only  whimper ;  and  there  is  where  they 
have  us. 

"  Ill-natured  article."  Well,  suppose  it  is  an  ill- 
natured  article  ?  Am  I  to  be  the  only  saint  in  the 
world?  Am  I  to  pussy-cat  round  a  subject,  and 
never  show  my  claws,  or  stick  np  my  back,  when  1 
catch  sight  of  the  enemy !  I  cry  you  mercy ;  in 
that  case  I  should  have  been  devoured  long  ago. 
Beside,  wasn't  the  handle  broken  off  a  lovely  little 
porcelain  "  gift  cup "  this  morning  ?  and  isn't  it 
raining  cats  and  dogs,  though  I  must  go  out  ?  and 
are  not  these  as  good  reasons  for  making  somebody 
uncomfortable  as  you  had,  Sir,  or  you,  Madam,  for 
that  little  thing  you  did  or  said  this  morning  to 
some  poor  soul  in  your  power,  who  couldn't  resent 
it  ?  Please  get  out  of  your  own  glass-house  before 
you  throw  stones  at  mine. 

"But  there  are  good,  kind  nurses.'1    Well,  I  am 


A   Chapter  on  Nurses.  77 

glad  to  hear  it.  Upon  my  soul,  I  believe  it.  Since 
you  say  so,  and  I  Lave  had  my  growl  out,  I  think  I 
remember  two  or  three.  They'll  go  to  heaven,  of 
course.  "What  more  do  you  want  ? 


A  BEASONABLE  BEING. — If  there's  anything  I 
hate,  it  is  "  a  reasonable  being."  Says  the  lazy 
mother  to  her  restless  child  whom  she  has  imprisoned 
within  doors  and  whose  active  mind  seeks  solutions 
of  passing  remarks,  "  Don't  bother,  Tommy ;  do  be 
reasonable,  and  not  tease  with  your  questions." 
Says  the  husband  to  his  sick  or  overtasked  wife, 
when  she  cries  from  mere  mental  or  physical  ex 
haustion,  "  How  I  hate  tears ;  do  be  a  reasonable 
being."  Says  the  conservative  father  to  his  son, 
whom  he  would  force  into  some  profession  or  em 
ployment  for  which  nature  has  utterly  disqualified 
him,  "  Are  you  wiser  than  your  father  ?  do  be  a 
reasonable  being."  Says  the  mother  to  sweet  six 
teen,  whom  she  would  marry  to  a  sixty-five-year  old 
money-bag.  "  Think  what  a  thing  it  is  to  have  a  fine 
establishment ;  do  be  a  reasonable  being." 

As  near  as  I  can  get  at  it,  to  be  a  reasonable  be 
ing,  is  to  laugh  when  your  heart  aches  ;  it  is  to  give 
confidence  and  receive  none ;  it  is  faithfully  to  keep 
your  own  promises,  and  never  mind  such  a  trifle  as 
having  promises  broken  to  you.  It  is  never  to  have 
or  to  promulgate  a  dissenting  opinion.  It  is  either 
to  be  born  a  fool,  or  in  lack  of  that  to  become  a 
hypocrite,  trying  to  become  a  "  reasonable  being." 


DO  AMERICAN  WOMEN  LOVE 
NATURE? 

READ  an  article  in  The  Nation  the  other 
day,   in   which   the   writer   deplores   "that 
American  women  are  not  lovers  of  Nature." 
Now,  sins  enough  both  of  omission  and  commission 
are  laid  to  their  charge,  without  adding  to  the  list 
those   that   are   baseless.      "American  women  not 
lovers  of  Nature ! "     Where  does   the  writer  keep 
his  eyes,  that  he  does  not  see,  even  here  in  the  city, 
in  mid-winter,  the  parlor-windows  of  almost  every 
house  he  passes,  decorated  by  the  American  ladies 
who  preside  over  it,  with  hanging  baskets  of  flower 
ing  plants,  with  ivies  and  geraniums  tastefully  ar 
ranged,  besides  bouquets  of  fresh-cut  flowers  always 
upon  the  mantel?     Even  the  humblest  house  will 
have  its  cracked  pitcher  filled  with  green  moss ;  as 
if  unwilling  to  do  without  that  little  suggestion  of 
Nature,   although   the   fingers   which   tend   it    are 
coarse  with  washing,  or  sewing  on  shirts  at  six  cents 
apiece.     Did  the  writer  never  notice  the  "  American 
women"   going  up   and   down   Broadway?     How 
impossible  it  is  for  them  to  resist  stopping  at  the 
street  corners  to  invest  a  few  pennies  in  the  little 
fragrant  bunch  of  pansies  or  tuberoses,  for  private 
delectation,  and  the  adornment  of  their  own  pretty 


Do  American  Women  love  Nature?    79 

rooms  at  liome !  Then,  too,  I  am  a  great  haunter 
of  green-houses  and  florists'  shops  generally ;  whom, 
by  the  way,  I  consider  in  the  light  of  missionaries 
in  this  work-a-day  world,  to  educate  and  stimulate 
our  artistic  propensities,  by  the  various  and  beauti 
ful  arrangements  of  form  and  color,  in  their  floral 
offerings ;  and  I  find  there  plenty  of  "  American 
women "  enthusiastic  in  their  praises  and  lavish  in 
their  expenditures  in  this  direction.  Many  of  them 
are  flowers  themselves,  bright,  beautiful,  lovely, 
beyond  all  the  buds  and  sprays  and  tinted  leaves 
they  hover  over,  like  so  many  humming-birds. 

Then,  again,  when  I  go  into  the  country  each 
summer,  I  find  "  American  ladies "  rambling  in 
the  woods,  with  a  keen  appreciation  of  Nature  in  all 
its  varied  forms,  from  a  lovely  sunrise  to  the  last 
faint  chirp  of  the  sleepiest  little  bird  who  is  safely 
nestled  for  the  night  in  his  leafy  little  home.  I 
meet  them  too  in  the  odorous  warm  autumn  noons, 
with  branches  and  .garlands  of  gay-tinted  leaves,  so 
embarrassed  with  their  wealth  of  richness  that  they 
cannot  carry  more,  and  yet  unwilling  to  leave  so 
many  "  Teal  beauties  "  still  trembling,  unplucked,  on 
the  boughs  above  them.  I  see  them  taking  infinite 
pains  to  press  these  bright  leaves  in  books  prepared 
for  the  purpose,  that  they  may  beautify  their  homes 
for  the  cold  winter  days.  Sometimes  the  result  of 
this  painstaking  is  seen  in  the  form  of  an  ingenious 
lamp-shade,  far  more  beautiful  than  one  could  pur 
chase  for  any  amount  of  money.  Then,  again,  it 
will  be  in  the  leafy  frame  for  a  favorite  picture ; 


80    Do  American  Women  love  Nature? 

then  again  in  a  vase,  the  grouping  of  branches  and 
tints  in  such  perfect  taste,  that  the  most  trained 
artistic  eye  could  find  no  flaw  or  blemish. 

Now,  with  all  due  deference  to  The  Nation,  in 
which  this  article  appeared,  I  beg  leave  most  em 
phatically  to  express  a  difference  in  opinion  ;  the 
more  so  as  this  increasing  interest  in  floral  decora 
tions,  particularly  those  of  the  parlor  windows,  has 
been  a  matter  of  great  congratulation  with  me ; 
since  the  latter  gives  pleasure  to  many  a  passer-by 
who  has  neither  the  means  nor  time  to  spend  in 
aught  save  the  bare  necessities  of  life.  How  many 
times  I  have  seen  some  ragged  little  shivering  child 
stand,  spell-bound,  before  some  sunlit  window,  gay 
with  blossoming  jjlants,  and  forgetting  for  the  time 
the  dirt  and  chill  and  squalor  of  her  own  wretched 
home!  How  many  times  the  weary  seamstress, 
resting  her  bundle  upon  the  fence  outside,  while  her 
eyes  drank  in  their  freshness !  How  many  times 
the  laboring  man,  with  his  little  child  beside  him, 
have  I  seen,  as  he  raised  him  upon  his  shoulder  to 
"  see  the  pretty  flowers."  And  tlds  is  principally 
why  I  rejoice  that  American  women  do  love  Nature. 
Those  people  who  stop  to  look  from  the  outside,  are 
being  educated  the  while  to  the  beautiful,  quite  un 
known  to  themselves ;  and  these  ladies  are  provid 
ing  them  this  pleasure  without  cost. 

I  was  very  much  struck,  while  in  Newport  last 
summer,  with  the  educating  effect  of  the  superb 
floral  decorations  about  the  villas  of  the  wealthy  in 
that  place  ;  for  no  house  there,  how  humble  soever, 


Do  American  Women  love  Nature?    81 

but  had  its  little  emulative  patch  of  bright  flowers, 
or  its  climbing  vines,  or  its  window  bouquet.  No, 
no ;  The  Nation  must  have  been  taking  a  Rip  Yan 
Winkle  nap,  I  think,  when  it  made  this  unfounded 
charge  against  "  American  Women." 


GOODNIGHT. — How  commonplace  is  this  expres 
sion,  and  yet  what  volumes  it  may  speak  for  all  fut 
ure  time  1  We  never  listen  to  it,  in  passing,  that 
this  thought  does  not  force  itself  upon  us,  be  the 
tones  in  which  it  is  uttered  ever  so  gay.  The  lapse 
of  a  few  fatal  hours  or  minutes  may  so  surround 
and  hedge  it  in  with  horror,  that  of  all  the  millions 
of  words  which  a  lifetime  has  recorded,  these  two 
little  words  alone  shall  seem  to  be  remembered. 

Good-night ! 

The  little  child  has  lisped  it,  as  it  passed,  smiling, 
to  a  brighter  morn,  than  ours ;  the  lover,  with  his 
gay  dreams  of  the  nuptial  morrow ;  the  wife  and 
mother,  with  all  the  tangled  threads  of  household 
care  still  in  her  fingers  ;  the  father,  with  the  appeal 
ing  eye  of  childhood  all  unanswered. 

Good-night ! 

That  seal  upon  days  passed,  and  days  to  come. 
What  hand  so  rash  as  to  rend  aside  the  veil  that 
covers  its  morrow  ?  / 
6 


RAINY -DAY  PLEASURES. 

LIKE  a  rainy  day.  None  of  your  drizzling, 
half-and-half  affairs,  but  an  uncompromis 
ing,  driving,  wholesale,  gusty  whirlwind  of 
water,  that  comes  rattling,  pell-mell,  against  the 
windows,  that  floods  sidewalks,  and  swells  gutters, 
and  turns  umbrellas  inside  out,  and  gives  the  trees 
a  good  shaking.  I  am  sure  on  that  day  of  slippers 
and  a  morning  dress  till  bedtime.  I  am  sure  of 
time  to  look  over  the  piles  of  magazines  and  news 
papers  that  have  been  accumulating.  I  can  answer 
some  of  those  haunting  letters,  or  write  autographs ; 
I  can  loll  and  think;  I  can  put  that  wretched- 
looking  desk  to  rights  ;  I  can  polish  up  that  time- 
worn  gold  pen  ;  I  can  empty  and  refill  my  inkstand. 
I  can  do  a  thousand  necessary  things  which  a  bright, 
sunshiny  day  would  veto.  Of  course  I  don't  want 
it  to  keep  on  raining  a  month.  I  shall  want  to  wake 
some  day  and  find  a  bright  sky  and  clean  pavements ; 
but  meanwhile  I  delight  in  these  rattling  windows, 
which  make  the  bright  coal-fire  look  so  pleasant, 
and  secure  to  me  an  uninterrupted  morning j  for 
whoso  robs  me  of  my  morning,  robs  me  of  that 
which  does  not  enrich  him,  and  leaves  me  poor  in 
deed.  After  midday,  "  come  one,  come  all,"  etc. 
But  how  to  make  anybody  save  a  writer  understand 


Rainy-day  Pleasures.  S3 

this,  is  the  question.  "Why  you  can't  write  at 
another  portion  of  the  day  just  as  well ;  why  you 
can't  make  an  exception  in  their  particular  case ; 
why  an  interruption  of  half  an  hour  or  an  hour 
more  or  less  in  the  morning  should  matter — this  is 
incomprehensible  to  persons  who,  at  the  same  time, 
would  think  you  quite  an  idiot,  should  you  under 
take  to  explain  to  them  why  uncorked  champagne 
should  be  after  a  while  flat  and  stale.  "  But  I  can't 
come  at  any  other  time,"  once  urged  a  person,  with 
more  frankness  than  consideration,  who  came  on  her 
own  personal  business.  Now  it  is  very  disagreeable 
to  be  obliged  to  say "  no "  more  than  once  to  the 
same  person;  and  yet  when  one's  necessary  and 
imperative  arrangements  of  time  are  disregarded, 
it  is  manifestly  pardonable.  It  is  a  curious  fact, 
however,  that  authors  themselves,  wrho  better  than 
anybody  else  should  understand  the  necessities  of 
the  case,  are  often  culpable  in  this  regard  ;  they 
who,  more  than  anybody  else,  revel  in  rainy  morn 
ings,  or  any  morning  which  secures  to  them  uninter 
rupted  time  and  thought.  I  am  not  sure,  after  all 
my  preaching,  of  not  doing  the  same  thing  myself. 
If  I  should,  I  trust  nobody  will  have  any  scruples 
about  turning  me  out. 


CHIT-CHAT     WITH    SOME      OF     MY 
CO  It  It  ESP  ONDENTS. 


T-T          *• 

(HE  epistles  which  public  persons  receive,  if 
published,  would  not  be  credible.  Begging 
letters  are  a  matter  of  course ;  often  in  the 
highwayman  style  of,  "  hand  over  and  deliver."  I 
had  one  recently  from  a  perfect  stranger,  who  wished 
a  cool  hundred  or  so,  and  mapped  out  the  circuitous 
way  in  which  it  was  to  be  sent,  so  that  "  his  folks 
needn't  know  it,"  with  a  belief  in  my  spooniness, 
which  an  acquaintance  with  me  would  scarcely  have 
warranted.  Following  close  on  the  heels  of  this, 
came  another  from  a  woman,  whose  ideas  of  my 
spare  time  and  common-sense  were  about  equally 
balanced.  This  stranger  of  the  female  persuasion, 
being  hard-up  for  amusement,  wished  "  a  long,  racy 
letter  from  me,  such  as  I  alone  .could  write,  with  no 
religion  in  it,  because  she  got  enough  of  that  from 
the  minister's  wife."  It  is  unnecessary  to  add  that 
both  these  missives  found  a  home  in  my  waste-paper 
basket.  Autograph  letters  I  do  not  object  to,  as 
they  keep  me  in  postage  stamps,  and  my  little 
"  Bright  Eyes  "in  cards  to  draw  clogs  and  horses 
upon. 

A  friend  of  mine  has  been  delivered  from  manu 
scripts  sent  for  perusal,  with  the  modest  accompany- 


Cliit-cliat  with  some  Correspondents.    85 

ing  request  to  find  a  publisher  for  the  same,  by  stat 
ing  her  price  to  be  §200.  She  has  received  no  re 
quest  of  the  kind  since  this  announcement. 

These  are  some  of  the  annoyances  of  authors ; 
but,  verily,  they  have  their  rewards  too.  Here  comes 
a  letter  from  my  native  State,  Maine,  with  a  box 
of  wood  mosses  and  berries  to  place  round  the  roots 
of  my  house-plants  ;  and  as  an  expression  of  affec 
tion  from  a  stranger  who  knows  from  my  writings 
how  well  I  love  such  things.  She  says,  in  closing, 
that  she  hopes  that  myself  and  Mr.  Beecher  will 
continue  to  write  so  long  as  she  lives  to  read.  Mr. 
Beecher  may  step  up  and  take  his  half  of  this  sugar 
plum,  since  he  has  announced  himself  a  champion 
of  "  candy." 

Then  before  me  on  my  desk  is  a  smiling  baby 
face  sent  by  its  parents,  who  are  strangers  to  me,  if 
those  can  be  strangers  whose  hearts  warm  toward 
each  other ;  sent  me,  they  add,  "  not  for  a  silver  cup, 
but  because  some  chance  words  of  mine  touched 
their  hearts,  and  so  this  little  one  was  named  Fanny 
Tern." 

She  smiles  down  upon  me  whether  my  sky  be 
cloudy  or  clear,  and  in  the  light  of  that  smile  I  will 
try  to  write  worthily ;  for  "  their  angels  do  always 
behold  the  face  of  my  Father." 

Here  lie  two  letters  on  my  desk  from  strangers 
regarding  an  article  of  mine.  One  warmty  in  dorses 
the  sentiments  therein  expressed,  and  calls  upon 
"  God  to  bless  me  "  for  their  expression.  The  other 
dissents  entirely,  and  commends  me  to  the  notice  of 


86     Cliit-cliat  with  some  Correspondents. 

a  far  different  Power,  for  disseminating  such 
wrong-headed  notions.  Thank  you  both !  I  am 
used  to  both  styles  of  epistles.  There's  nothing  I  con 
tend  for  more  than  individuality  of  opinion;  this 
would  be  a  stupid  world  enough  if  we  all  thought, 
felt,  and  acted  after  one  universal  programme ; 
everybody  must  see  things  from  their  own  stand 
point  and  through  their  own  spectacles ;  and,  pro 
vided  they  use  civil  language,  should  "  have  the 
floor  "  in  turn  to  air  their  ideas.  It  might  be  well 
to  suggest  that,  in  commenting  on  a  newspaper  ar 
ticle,  care  should  be  taken  that  it  be  first  thoroughly 
read,  that  the  writer's  meaning  be  not  misinter 
preted ;  if  this,  were  done  in  many  cases,  the  foun 
dation  for  an  adverse  opinion  would  be  quite 
knocked  from  under.  Authors  must  expect  the 
penalties  as  well  as  the  rewards  of  their  labors  ;  but 
one  of  the  most  trying  is  to  be  accused  of  sentiments 
and  feelings  which  they  hold  in  utter  abhorrence. 
Still,  he  would  make  small  progress  on  a  journey, 
who  should  stop  to  hurl  a  stone  at  every  barking 
creature  at  his  heels ;  therefore,  in  such  cases,  let 
patience  have  her  perfect  work,  and  let  the  victim 
keep  steadily  moving  on,  with  an  eye  fixed  upon 
the  goal  in  the  distance.  But  when  you  have  unin 
tentionally  wounded  a  gentle  spirit,  which  .grieves 
all  the  more  because  it  conscientiously  believes  that 
you  have  done  harm,  ah  !  then,  none  would  be  sor 
rier  than  the  present  writer ;  none  would  go  farther 
to  soothe  the  hurt ;  none  would  try  harder  to  agree 
in  opinion,  consistently  with  self-respect.  But  if 


Cliit-chat  with  some  Correspondents.    87 

every  writer  stopped  to  consider  whether  his  readers 
would  be  pleased,  or  the  contrary,  with  his  senti 
ments,  instead  of  busying  himself  with  the  subject 
on  hand  for  the  moment,  it  would  be  like  the  cloud 
ing  in  of  the  sun  on  a  clear  morning.  Everything 
would  be  reduced  to  one  colorless  level.  The  bright 
tints  taken  away,  made  brighter  by  the  sometime 
shadows,  could  give  a  landscape  tame  enough,  spirit 
less  enough,  to  engender  hypochondria.  Surely  the 
world  of  to-day  is  more  liberal  than  this.  Surely  it 
is  learning  "  to  agree  to  differ."  Surely  it  knows 
by  this  time  that  a  good  life  is  of  more  importance 
than  creeds  or  beliefs.  Surely  in  this  year  of  our 
Lord,  1867,  the  days  of  the  Inquisition  are  past 
both  for  editors  and  writers,  and  the  watchword  of 
to-day — and,  thank  God,  for  to-morrow,  and  the  day 
after — is  progress,  not  paralysis. 

Having  said  this,  I  consider  that  I  have  cleared 
the  deck  for  action,  as  far  as  my  own  ship  is  con 
cerned.  A  stray  shot  won't  frighten  or  discourage 
me ;  on  the  contrary,  it  only  makes  me  step  round 
the  livelier,  to  see  that  my  guns  are  in  working 
order.  Then,  again,  any  one  who  wishes  to  hail  me, 
and  haul  alongside  in  a  friendly  manner,  shall  be 
always  certain  of  a  kind  salute  from  me. 

A  lady  whose  life,  like  that  of  many  others,  has 
not  run  smoothly  through  a  bed  of  flowers,  writes 
me  "  to  tell  her  the  secret  of  courage,  which  she  is 
sure  I  know." 

I  do  not  profess  to  speak  for  others,  but  the  secret 
of  all  the  courage  I  ever  had  is  a  firm  belief  in  im- 


88     Gliit-cliat  with  some  Correspondents. 

mortality,  and  in  its  satisfactory  unriddling  of  this 
life  of  seeming  cross-purposes.  Without  this  I  can 
never  tell  how  either  man  or  woman  can  learn  to 
look  their  dead  in  the  face,  or  what  is  oftener  much 
harder  to  do,  to  look  their  living  in  the  face.  I  can 
never  tell  how  they  can  lay  their  distracted  heads 
upon  their  pillows  at  night,  without  praying  that 
they  may  never  wake  to  another  sunrise,  or  how 
they  can  stagger  to  their  feet  seventy  times  seven, 
after  prostrations  of  body  and  spirit,  which  come 
one  after  another,  like  the  blows  of  some  avenging 

o      o 

fiend.  I  cannot  tell  else  how  they  can  see  the  good 
crushed  and  defeated  and  apparently  extinguished, 
and  the  unscrupulous  and  bad  receiving  all  homage, 
and  sitting  triumphant  in  high  places.  I  cannot 
tell  else  how  the  wretched  mother  can  take,  lovingly 
and  patiently,  to  her  heart  another  little  one,  when 
her  failing  strength  is  already  tasked  to  the  utmost 
to  care  for  little  brothers  and  sisters,  wrho,  having  a 
father,  are  yet  fatherless.  It  must  be  only  because 
her  eyes  can  see  clearly  "  Our  Father  who  art  in 
heaven/'  I  look  with  sorrowing  wonder  upon 
those  who,  passing  in  and  out  of  their  pleasant,  and 
as  yet  unbroken,  homes,  refuse  to  see  the  marks  of 
blood  upon  their  door-post,  betokening  the  death  of 
the  first-born.  I  marvel  that  these  steppers  upon 
flowers  childishly  make  no  provision  for  the  pit 
falls  concealed  beneath  them.  I  wonder  at  those 
who,  laying  their  treasure  all  up  in  one  place,  never 
think,  in  this  world  of  change,  of  the  day  of  bank 
ruptcy. 


Cliit-cliat  with  some  Correspondents.    89 

I  do  not  wonder,  when  tlieir  household  gods  are 
shivered,  that  such  exclaim,  "  Ye  have  taken  away 
my  idols,  and  what  have  I  left  f  "  or  that  suicide  or 
lunacy  are  often  the  results. 

It  is  only  they  who,  in  such  crises,  believe  in 
"  Him  who  doeth  all  things  well,"  that  have  any 
thing  "  left."  It  is  only  such  who  have  courage  for 
what  sorrow  soever  is  yet  in  store  for  them,  in  a  life 
which  for  the  moment  seems  robbed  of  all  its  sun 
shine.  It  is  only  they  who  have  learned  to  live  out 
of  themselves,  and  who  can  yield — tearfully  it  may 
be,  but  unrepiningly — their  earthly  hopes  and 
treasures  up. 

This  is  all    the  "  courage "  I  know   which   will 

O 

help  us  to  look  upon  the  dear  dead  face  with  patient 
resignation,  or  take  up  again  the  next  morning  the 
weary,  vexed  burden  of  life,  until  we  are  summoned 
to  lay  it  down. 

LUCIA: — I  am  sorry  that  in  your  innocence  you 
should  have  placed  any  dependence  upon  the  state 
ments  of  "  a  New  York  Correspondent."  It  is  a  pity 
to  pull  down  any  of  the  fine  air-castles  they  are  in  the 
habit  of  building;  still  it  is  my  duty  to  inform  you 
that  these  gentry  often  describe,  with  the  greatest 
minuteness,  authors  and  authoresses  whom  they  have 
never  seen,  manufacturing  at  the  same  time  little 
personal  histories  concerning  these  celebrities,  valua 
ble  only  as  ingenious  specimen-"  bricks,  made  with 
out  straw."  It  matters  little  to  the  writers  whether 
nature  has  furnished  the  authoress  about  whom  they 
romance  with  black  eyes  or  blue,  brown  hair  or 


90     Chit-chat  with  some  Correspondents. 

flaxen ;  whether  nature  made  her  a  six-foot  grena 
dier,  or  a  symmetrical  pocket  edition  of  woman 
hood  ;  the  description  answers  all  the  same  for  the 
provincial  paper  for  which  it  was  intended,  and 
these  Ananias  and  Sapphira  gentry  find  that  a  spicy 
lie  pays  as  well  as  the  truth — at  least  till  they  are 
found  out.  Kb,  madam ;  notwithstanding  the  state 
ments  of  your  valuable  "  Kew  York  Correspondent" 

for  the ,  I  have  no  "  daughters  married ;  "  I 

never  "  wear  a  black  stocking  on  one  foot  and  a 
white  one  on  the  other,  at  the  same  time,  to  attract 
attention;"  I  never  "rode  on  the  top  of  an  omni 
bus  ;  "  I  don't  "  smoke  cigarettes  or  chew  opium ;  " 
I  have  no  personal  knowledge  concerning  the 
"mud-scow,"  "handcart,"  "cooking  stove,"  and 
"  hotel,"  that  you  have  his  authority  for  saying  have 
been  severally  "  named  for  me."  I  am  not  "  mar 
ried  to  Mr.  Bonner,"  who  has  a  most  estimable  wife 
of  his  own.  I  "  never  delivered  an  address  in 
public  ; "  and  with  regard  to  "  the  amount  I  have 
made  by  my  pen,"  you  and  the  special  "  New  York 
Correspondent"  arc  quite  at  liberty  to  speculate 
about  it,  without  any  assistance  from  me.  As  to 
my  "  religious  creed,"  the  first  article  in  it  is, 
"  Thou  shalt  not  bear  false  witness  against  thy 
neighbor." 

O 

A  gentleman  writes  me  to  know  "  if  it  is  true 
that  I  boldly,  and  umvinkingly,  and  unblushingly 
stated,  over  my  own  signature,  and  contrary  to  the 
usual  custom  of  my  sex,  that  I  was  fifty-eight  years 
old." 


Cliit-clictt  with  some  Correspondents.    91 

Well,  sir,  I  did.  Why  not  ?  I  feel  prouder  of 
that  fact,  and  of  my  being  the  grandmother  of  the 
handsomest  and  smartest  grandchild  in  this  or  any 
other  country,  than  of  any  other  two  facts  I  have 
knowledge  of.  I  can't  conceive  why  men,  or  wo 
men  either — for  this  squeamishness  about  one's  age, 
I  find,  is  not  at  all  a  thing  of  sex — should  care  one 
penny  about  it.  I  say  again,  I  am  "fifty-eight," 
and  I  am  glad  of  it.  I  have  had  my  day,  and  I  am 
quite  willing  that  every  other  woman  should  have 
hers. 


WILL  PAEENTS  TAKE  HEED? — On  all  hands  com 
plaints  are  made  of  the  increasing  ill-health  of  our 
school-children.  Now  who  is  to  take  this  matter  in 
hand  ?  Who  is  to  say  there  shall  be  absolutely  no 
lessons  learned  out  of  school,  unless  the  present  du 
ration  of  school  hours  shall  be  shortened  ?  It 
needs,  we  think,  only  that  the  parents  shall  them 
selves  insist  upon  this  to  effect  it.  Why  wait  till 
brain-fever  has  set  in  ?  Why  wait  till  little  spines 
are  irretrievably  crooked  ?  And  of  what  mortal  use 
is  it  to  keep  on  pouring  anything  into  a  vessel  when 
it  is  incapable  of  holding  any  more,  and  is  only 
wasted  upon  the  ground  ? 


M T  LIKING  FOR  PRETTY  THINGS. 


II,  you  luxurious  puss  ! '"  That  remark  was 
addressed  to  me,  because  I  said  I  would 
like  to  be  lulled  to  sleep  each  night,  and 
awoke  each  morning  by  strains  of  sweet  music. 
There's  no  harm  in  imagining  things,  I  hope,  pro 
vided  one  goes  quietly  and  ploddingly  on  in  what 
the  ministers  call  "the  path  of  duty."  Now,  for 
instance,  sometimes  I  amuse  myself  planning  beau 
tiful  forms  for  dishes,  and  cups,  and  plates,  and 
glasses ;  beautiful  patterns  for  carpets  and  wall 
papers  ;  beautiful  and  odd  frames  for  pictures ; 
beautiful  loopings  and  draperies  for  window-cur 
tains;  and  beautiful  shapes  for  chairs  and  tables. 
Sometimes  I  eat  an  imaginary  breakfast  in  a  room 
with  long  windows,  opening  out  into  a  lovely  gar 
den  full  of  sweet  flowers ;  like  lilies  of  the  valley 
and  roses  and  mignonette  and  heliotrope  and  vio 
lets — oh,  yes !  violets  everywhere.  Then  those' 
lovely  "  pond  lilies "  should  grow  in  the  water,  at 
the  bottom  of  the  garden,  and  some  of  them  should 
be  brought  in,  fresh,  dewy,  and  cool,  and  placed  on 
the  breakfast-table;  and  little  birds  should  hop  in, 
over  the  threshold  of  the  breakfast-room,  for  crumbs, 
and  sing  me  a  song  of  thanks ;  and  a  great,  mon- 


My  Liking  for  Pretty  Things.       93 

stroiis  dog  should  lie  prone  upon  tlie  piazza ;  and 
vines  should  wreathe  themselves  round  the  pillars 
thereof;  clematis  and  sweet  pea,  and  honeysuckles, 
white  and  red,  and  the  gorgeous  trumpet-flower; 
and  nobody  should  be  able  to  find  the  chimneys  at 
all,  for  the  lovely  blooming  Wisteria  that  should 
clamber  over  the  roof.  Such  trees  and  such  velvet 
grass  as  I'd  have  around  the  house !  Giant  horse- 
chestnuts  and  elms  and  oaks  and  maples  ;  and  here 
and  there  a  lovely  statue  peeping  out  in  some  unex 
pected  place.  And  then  I'd  invite  you,  and  you, 
and  you ;  not  because  I  would  like  to  make  a  show- 
thing  of  it,  but  because  I  would  like  to  see  you  en 
joy  it  as  much  as  myself. 

Wouldn't  it  be  nice  ?  I  d o  hate  ugly  things — 
there's  no  use  in  denying  it.  Sometimes  Mr.- Libra- 
no  brings  in  one  of  his  profound  books,  and  lays  it, 
pro  tern.,  on  my  parlor-table ;  he  looks  for  it  shortly, 
and  finds  it  not.  "I  knew  it  would  be  banished 
when  I  put  it  -there,"  he  says,  "  because  the  binding 
was  so  homely." 

He  pretends,  too,  that  water  tastes  just  as  cool 
poured  out  from  an  ugly-shaped  pitcher  as  out  of 
my  pet  china  one,  with  the  graceful  lip,  and  vine- 
wreathed  sides  and  handle ;  and  when  I  send  for 
"a  headache-cup-of-tea,"  and  add.  "Now  be  sure 
you  bring  it  in  my  lovely  blue-tinted  cup-and- 
saucer,"  he  laughs,  and  asks,  "  if  that  will  make  my 
head  any  better  ? "  Why,  of  course  it  will.  Now, 
you  see,  if  I,  like  a  coward,  dodged  work  and  bother, 
and  the  disagreeables  of  life,  when  they  had  to  be 


04        My  Lildncj  for  Pretty  Things. 

met,  that  would  be  one  thing;  but  I  don't;  I  jnst 
take  'em  vigorously  by  the  horns  till  I  get  through 
•with  them  ;  and  so  I  maintain  that  I  have  a  right  to 
my  luxurious  dreams  and  my  pretties,  if  they  do  me 
any  good.  ~Now  haven't  I  ?  And  speaking  of  that, 
as  I  was  looking  round  the  other  day,  I  saw  such  a 
dreadful  waste  of  ingenuity  that  my  heart  bled  for 
the  misapplied  talent  of  the  inventor.  It  was  a 
straw-colored  butter-dish  in  the  shape  of  a  man's 
hat,  ribbon  and  all  complete.  The  rim  thereof  did 
duty  as  a  saucer,  while  the  divorcible  crown  was 
clapped  over  the  butter.  Horrible  !  Then  I  saw 
an  egg  dish,  with  an  executive  sitting  hen,  awfully 
natural,  doing  duty  as  a  cover.  I  left  the  locality 
abruptly,  fearing  I  might  see  a  meat-dish  cover,  in 
the  form  of  a  pig — snout,  tail,  bristles  and  all. 

Why,  I  ask  in  this  connection,  am  I  daily  tortured 
with  the  sight  of  lamps  supported  by  bronze  cher 
ubs,  appealing  piteously  to  my  wide-awake  maternal 
instincts  ?  And  why  are  my  evenings  at  public 
places  of  amusement  spoiled  by  the  sight  of  galler 
ies  of  heartless  people  held  up  wrhole  evenings  by 
wretchedly  carved  female  figures,  in  every  stage  of 
contorted  legs,  knees,  heads,  and  arms. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  that  it  would  be  better  if  you 
hadn't  quite  so  much  imagination,"  triumphantly 
retorts  Mr.  Cynic. 

Yery  true,  you  did ;  but  still  I  don't  agree  with 
you ;  because  looking  at  some  people  through  that 
glorified  medium,  I  have  been  able  to  discover  vir 
tues — which — otherwise Yes,  sir  ! 


UNSOUGHT  HAPPINESS. 


** 

LD  stagers  know  that  the  way  to  be  happy 
is  to  give  up  all  attempts  to  be  so.  In 
other  words,  the  cream  of  enjoyment  in  this 
life  is  always  impromptu.  The  chance  walk;  the 
unexpected  visit ;  the  unpremeditated  journey ;  the 
unsought  conversation  or  acquaintance. 

Everybody  feels  more  or  less  conscious  in  their 
"  Sunday  clothes."  Who  does  not  know  the  bless 
ing  of  comfortable  everyday  apparel,  every  fold  of 
which  has  made  intimate  acquaintance  with  the 
motions  and  postures  of  the  owner;  and  which 
can  be  worn  without  fear  of  being  spoiled,  or  ren 
dering  the  wearer  conspicuous.  The  bonnet  which 
sets  lightly  on  the  head  and  defies  rain;  the  boots 
which  do  not  constantly  remind  the  foot  that  a  chair 
would  be  the  greatest  of  all  earthly  blessings ;  in 
short,  that  freedom  which  will  let  you  forget  you 
yourself,  is  like  laying  down  a  huge  bundle  which 
has  fettered  you  weary  miles  on  a  dusty,  sunny 
road,  and  sitting  down,  unencumbered,  in  a  shady 
spot  to  dream  and  rest  in  a  delicious,  care-free  cool 
ness.  It  is  just  so  with  the  mind.  The  best  things 
written  or  spoken  have  not  been  written  or  spoken 
"  to  order."  They  "  whistled  themselves"  as  the 


96  Unsought 

terror-stricken  urchin  remarked  to  his  irate  school- 
ma'am.  They  carnc  "unbidden,  in  easy,  flowing  rai 
ment;  not  starched  and  stately,  rustling,  prim,  and 
conscious.  They  came  without  thought  of  "  what 
people  would  say/'  They  stepped  out  because  the 
time  had  come  when  they  couldn't  stay  in.  In  a 
word,  they  were  natural  as  little  children  are,  and 
consequently  delicious  and  fresh. 

I  solemnly  aver  that,  the  moment  anybody  tries 
to  do  or  say  a  good  thing,  that  moment  he  shall 
never  be  delivered  of  it,  but  shall  only  experience 
throes  of  mortal  pain  trying.  If  you  build  yourself 
a  beautiful  house,  and  make  it  a  marvel  of  taste  and 
convenience,  in  one  of  its  lovely  chambers  shall 
your  dead  be  laid  ;  and  you  shall  wander  heart-sick 
away  from  it,  to  rid  yourself  of  a  phantom  that  will 
always  follow  you,  till  you  turn  boldly  and  face  it, 
and  with  a  strong  heart  accept  its  company. 

This  incessant  striving  to  be  happy  !  Never,  never 
shall  mortals  be  so  till  they  have  learned  to  give  it 
over.  Happiness  comes.  It  will  not  be  challenged. 
It  glides  in  only  when  you  have  closed  the  door 
and  turned  your  back  upon  it,  and  forgot  it.  It 
lays  a  soft  hand  on  your  face  when  you  thought  to 
be  alone,  and  brings  a  joyful  flush  of  surprise  to 
your  cheek,  and  a  soft  light  to  your  weary  eye,  and 
ineffable  peace  to  your  soul. 

It  is  a  great  thing  when  all  that  can  possibly 
happen  to  a  person,  save  one's  death,  has  happened. 
It  is  a  great  thing  to*  have  been  poor,  and  friendless, 
and  nameless,  and  to  have  been  rich,  and  famous, 


Unsought  Happiness.  97 

and  flattered.  It  is  a  great  thing  to  have  been 
young  and  to  have  been  old.  It  is  a  great  thing  to 
have  perforated  the  bubble,  Fame,  and  seen  it  col 
lapse  before  a  hungry  heart.  It  is  a  great  thing 
to  have  had  dear  ones,  who  moulded  every  thought 
and  action,  from  the  rising  to  the  setting  sun,  and 
then  to  have  seen  them  suddenly  vanish  like 
stars  from  the  sky,  and  to  have  folded  one's 
paralyzed  hands  in  the  darkness  because  there  was 
no  earthly  future  left.  It  is  a  great  thing  to  have 
suffered  and  agonized  in  your  own  Gethsemane 
on  account  of  it,  till  that  very  suffering  brings  you 
to  be  glad  and  contented  that  they  are  in  a  world 
where  all  tears  are  wiped  from  all  eyes.  It  is  a 
great  thing  to  rise  slowly  and  take  up  the  burden  of 
life  again  and  plod  mechanically  on.  It  is  a  great 
thing  to  be  calm  and  unmoved  when  brutal  pens,  to 
point  a  coarse  paragraph,  unearth  one's  sacred  dead. 
It  is  a  great  thing  to  lock  up  chambers  in  one's  soul, 
and  sit  down  by  the  closed  doors,  lest  some  apa 
thetic  or  unkind  ear  should  hear  the  pained  cries 
you  only  want  time  to  smother.  It  is  a  great  thing 
to  have  encountered  all  of  malice,  and  envy,  and 
uncharitableness,  that  the  world  has  to  offer,  so  that 
its  repetition  can  only  be  to  the  ear  a  dull,  unmean 
ing  sound.  It  is  a  great  thing  so  to  have  weighed 
human  judgment  that  its  Aye  or  No  is  a  matter  of 
indifference  in  the  light  of — to  come. 

True ;  before   the    sensitive   and   tender-hearte4 
can  reach  that  point,  rivers  of  tears  must  have  been 
shed  and  millions  of  sighs  heaved.     Scores  of  suns 
7 


98  Unsought  Happiness. 

must  have  set  on  days  of  torturing  length,  and 
scores  of  mornings  too  many  must  have  dawned. 
Uncounted  hours  must  have  been  spent  reaching 
out  in  the  darkness  for  that  which  the  soul  has 
never  found,  or,  finding,  has  lost ;  and  thousands  of 
times  must  the  weary  hands  have  fallen  to  the  side 
in  utter  helplessness. 

But  this  churchyard  of  the  soul  passed  through, 
where  every  step  is  upon  some  buried  hope,  what  is 
the  petty  noise  and  dust  of  the  highway  about  which 
others  fume  and  complain  \  What  is  it  to  the  un 
conscious  if  rudely  jostled  in  passing  ?  What  is  it 
if  a  malicious  whipster  spatter  mud  ?  What  is  it  if 
a  rude  voice  accost,  or  the  right, of  the  road  be 
clamorously  contended  ?  when  all  voices,  all  roads 
are  alike ;  when  delay  or  speed  matters  not ;  when 
a  choice  about  anything  seems  utterly  ridiculous, 
and  all  one's  faculties  are  lost  in  astonishment  at 
the  worry  and  fret  and  perturbation  of  those  who 
have  not  undergone  the  same  ossifying  process  as 
yourself. 

After  all,  some  great  sorrow  is  surely  essential  to 
the  humanizing  of  every  soul.  Never  till  then  can 
it  offer  anything  but  lip  sympathy  to  those  who 
have  gasped  through  the  sea  of  trouble.  How  can 
lie  who  has  known  only  days  of  comparative  pro 
sperity  interpret  the  despairing  sigh  of  the  friend 
less  ?  How  can  he  who  has  never  dropped  tears 
into  the  open  grave  of  his  own  dead  measure  the 
agony  of  that  last,  lingering  look,  as  they  are  hidden 
forever  from  human  sight?  Till  a  vacant  chair 


Unsought  Happiness.  99 

stands  by  his  own  hearth,  how  can  lie  ever  under 
stand  why  one  should  still  keep  on  grieving  for  that 
which  can  never  be  recalled  ?  Till  his  heart  turns 
sickening  away  from  some  festive  anniversary  in 
which  a  missing  voice  once  made  music,  how  can 
he  see  why  one  need  be  doleful  on  such  a  day  as 
that  ?  Till  he  has  closed  his  ears  to  some  familiar 
strain  which  evoked  associations  too  painful  to 
bear,  how  can  he  tell  "  Why  you  cannot  forget  all 
that,  since  it  makes  you  so  miserable  "  ?  To  answer 
such,  is  to  talk  to  the  blind  of  colors,  to  the  deaf  of 
sounds,  to  the  dead  of  life  and  motion.  Never,  till 
his  own  house  is  darkened,  till  the  badge  of  desola 
tion  flutters  from  his  own  door,  till  sunshiny  days 
return  merciless  in  their  brightness,  and  stormy 
ones  send  his  thoughts  shuddering  to  a  shelterless 
grave ;  never  till  he  has  tried  changing  the  place, 
but  still  always  only  to  keep  the  old  pain,  can  he 
understand  the  desperation  with  which  at  last  one 
sits  helplessly  down,  to  face  that  which  it  can 
neither  look  upon  nor  flee  from. 


DIGNITY  OF  HUMAN  NATURE. 


IHE  philosopher  is  fond  of  talking  to  me 
about  what  lie  calls  "  the  dignity  of  human 
nature."  The  pains  he  takes  to  bolster  him 
self  up  in  this  shaky  belief  of  his,  would  do  credit 
to  a  better  cause.  Obstinacy  of  course  is  at  the 
bottom  of  it,  for  he  no  more  believes  in  it  than  I  do. 
How  can  he,  and  he  living  and  breathing  in  this 
sublunary  sphere  himself?  That's  just  what  I  said 
to  him  this  morning ;  for,  thank  Providence,  I  can 
generally  speak  my  mind  on  most  points.  What 
did  he  say  ?  That's  my  affair ;  suffice  it  to  say,  he 
sticks  to  it.  I  made  him  sit  down ;  then  I  sat 
down  on  his  knee,  to  make  sure  of  a  listener.  Then 
I  took  in  my  hand  the  morning  papers.  In  the  first 
place,  there  was  a  man  of  sixty  wrho  had  been 
coaxed  in  where  he  shouldn't  go,  and  robbed  while 
there.  Secondly,  there  was  a  justice  of  the  peace 
sentenced  to  the  Penitentiary  for  robbery.  Third 
ly,  there  was  a  clergyman  convicted  of  bigamy. 
Fourthly,  there  was  a  husband,  who  had  been  try 
ing,  with  an  iron  shovel,  to  find  out  whether  his 
wife  had  any  brains.  Fifthly,  there  w^as  another 
who  had  decided  an  argument  by  biting  off  a  por 
tion  of  his  antagonist's  nose.  Sixthly,  there  were 


Dignity  of  Human  Mature. :        101 

two  lads,  of  the  respective  ages  of  eight  and  thir 
teen,  who  had  been  murderously  perforating  each 
other's  intestines  with  sharp  penknives.  Seventhly, 
there  was  a  man  in  Massachusetts  who  had  lately 
numbered  his  twenty-fifth  child.  Eighthly,  there 
was  a  "  gentleman"  found,  in  the  small -hours,  sit 
ting  on  the  cold  sidewalk  in street,  hiccupping 

for  a  waiter  "  to  bring  him  another  bottle  of  cham 
pagne." 

"  Well,"  says  the  philosopher,  when  I  stopped  to 
take  breath,  "these,  are  only  the  exceptions  that 
prove  the  rule."  Exceptions,  quotha !  when  I  hadn't 
yet  dug  into  the  nauseous  kennel  of  the  advertising 
list!  Exceptions?  but  what's  the  use  of  talking? 
Does  not  every  morning's  new  issue  furnish  similar 
"  exceptions  "  ?  Certainly.  Besides,  didn't  I  put 

this  catechism  to  him  I     How  came to  give 

the  wife  of  an  official  high  in  power  that  splendid 
grand  piano?  There's  a  dignified  way  to  secure, 
through  a  wheedling  female  tongue,  a  fat  office. 
Not  to  mention  a  carriage  and  horses  unexpectedly 

placed  at  the   disposal  of   Senator  's  wife. 

Last,  but  not  least,  look  at  "Jeff.,"  first  and  last, 
from  his  attempted  flight  to  his  boyish  refusal  to  eat 
his  prison  fare,  bestowing  it  gratuitously  in  the  faces 
of  his  guards;  and  then  kicking  and  swearing, 

O  O  O' 

while  his  naughty  little  hands  and  feet  were  being 
fastened  together  therefor.  Dignity  ?  when  I  look 
at  human  beings,  and  think  of  what  they  daily  and 
hourly  do,  I  am  seized  with  convulsions  of  laughter 
at  the  idea.  Sometimes  the  devil  possesses  me,  in 


-\tiiymty  <  'qf  Human  Nature. 


the  presence  of  some'solemn  "  hark  from  the  tombs  " 
kind  of  an  individual,  to  picture  it,  till  I  am  tied  up 
with  cramps  trying  to  keep  from  laughing.  Nobody 
will  ever  know  what  I've  suffered  in  this  way. 
Dignity  ?  You  should  see  it  with  its  boots  up  on 
the  window-sill  of  some  hotel  lounging-room  facing 
Broadway,  with  its  mouth  wide  open,  thus  —  O  ;  its 
hat  rakishly  set  on  one  temple,  and  its  eyes  somno 
lently  closed  to  the  charms  of  the  lady  pedestrians, 
who  wouldn't  miss  the  picture  for  sixpence.  Dig 
nity?  Yesterday  I  saw  a  man  nearly  cut  in  two 
with  corsets.  Another  trying  to  hop  round  hila 
riously  in  a  pair  of  corn-murdering  boots.  Another 
roaring  out  in  an  omnibus  like  a  mad  bull  because 
the  cold-fingered  driver  gave  him  a  "  soiled  stamp." 
Dignity  of  human  nature  ?  Where  is  it  when  a 
man  is  in  the  dentist's  chair?  Where,  when  a 
waiter  spills  coffee  on  his  shirt-bosom  or  hot  soup 
on  his  trousers?  One  might  as  well  not  stiffen 
himself  up  against  facts  like  these,  said  I  to  the 
philosopher.  We  don't  stop  being  children,  this 
side  the  grave,  that  ever  I  could  find  out.  The  toys 
we  mostly  scramble  for,  like  those  that  dangle  from 
the  Christmas-tree,  suit  but  the  present  hour,  and, 
with  all  their  gilding  and  glittering  lights,  will  one 
day  be  but  broken  rubbish  on  our  hands.  When  a 
man  is  dead  he  looks  dignified  ;  but  while  he  is 
alive,  with  a  pipe  stereotyped  to  his  lips,  or  alter 
nately  dipping  his  stf^-erfluous  mustache  in  a 
plate  of  soup  and  sopping  it  with  a  napkin  ;  or,  as 
the  countrywoman  said  of  her  pet  minister,  "  sitting 


Dignity  of  Human  Nature.         103 

down,  spitting  round  socionable,"  I  really  can't  en 
tertain  the  idea  of  "  Dignity."  The  more  I  try  the 
more  I  laugh.  Frivolous,  I  grant ;  but  what  were 
woman  without  frivolity  ?  Not  a  man  would  speak 
to  us. 


WHAT  MINISTERS  NEED. — We  have  often  thought 
that  ministers  need  their  congregations  as  much,  if 
not  more,  than  congregations  need  their  ministers. 
Parishioners  are  not  apt  to  look  at  it  in  this  way. 
The  matter  of  salary  nowadays,  thank  God,  is,  as  a 
general  thing,  properly  considered ;  but  the  matter 
of  "  holding  up  his  hands  "  spiritually,  is  not.  Re 
member,  he  is  a  man  like  yourselves,  subject  to  dis 
couragement,  and  needs — oh,  more  often  than  you 
know  who  only  look  on  his  face  once  a  week — that 
affectionate  relationship  which  you  delight  in  be 
tween  your  own  children  and  yourself.  You  wish 
their  respect,  but  would  you  be  satisfied  with  only 
that  ?  Do  you  not  delight  in  the  beaming  eye  and 
constant,  kindly,  heartfelt  recognition  of  your  pres 
ence  ?  Just  so  your  minister  feels  toward  you,  else 
he  were  no  minister.  Then  do  not  treat  him  as  you 
would  a  Fourth-of-July  orator,  or  a  stray  lecturer, 
to  be  paid  and  dismissed,  and  forgotten  when  his 
message  is  delivered,  careless  after  that  wrhether  he 
be  crushed  or  shipwrecked  on  his  way  home.  Re 
member  the  phrase,  "  holding  up  his  hands."  It  has 
a  world  of  significance,  looked  at  in  this  light. 


ALL  ABOUT  DOCTORS. 


'IIEEE    be  many   kinds   of  Doctors;    allo 
pathic — homoepathic — and  mongrel.     Luck 
ily  every  family  swears  by  its  own,  and  be 
lieves  in  no  salvation  beyond  his  dictum.     There  is 
your  fashionable  Doctor  who  lives  in  a  fine  house  ; 
rides  to  his  "  cases  "  with  a  servant  in  livery ;  utterly 
eschews   all  gutter  localities,   and   never   troubles 
himself  to  go  out  when  his  head  aches,  or  in  bad 
weather.     His  manner  of  drawing  off  his  gloves  is 
pompous    and   impressive.     Nurse   in    the    corner 
sinks  down  into  her  slippers,  utterly  quenched  by  it. 
While  he  warms  his  hands  silently  at  the  fire,  he  is 
impressing  all  present  with  an  idea  of  his  immense 
profundity.     This  done,  he   fixes  his   eyes  on  the 
ceiling,  and  counts  his  patient's  pulse ;  then  comes 
the  tongue  examination ;    after  which  he   relapses 
into   another  profound  contemplation  of    the  ceil 
ing;    during -which  time  every  tick  of   the  clock 
seems  solemn  as  fate.     Then  follows  the  cabalistic 
writing;  a  dead  letter  to  everybody  but  this  Grand 
Mogul  and  the  apothecary.      The  gloves  are  then 
drawn  on,  and  bowing  to  the  thin  air,  our  elegant 
Doctor  delivers  himself  again  into  the  care  of  his 
liveried  servant. 


All  About  Doctors.  105 

Then  there  is  your  old-fashioned  Doctor ;  whose 
patients  "  will  have  him,"  though  he  has  wanted 
gradually  to  leave  off  practice  for  several  years,  in 
favor  of  new  aspirants.  The  cut  of  his  coat  is  a 
matter  that  don't  affect  his  practice.  He  smiles 
blandly  as  the  other  Doctor,  with  the  liveried  ser 
vant,  drives  past,  while  he  trudges  independently 
on  foot,  and  mentally  shakes  his  head  at  "new 
fashions."  He  is  civil  without  regard  to  externals. 
A  baby  is  a  baby  to  him,  whether  it  comes  into  the 
world  with  a  nice  wardrobe  ready  for  its  back,  or 
the  contrary.  He  is  perfectly  willing  to  tell  a  man 
who  places  his  stomach  in  his  hands  what  he  is 
going  to  put  into  it,  and  what  he  expects  it  to  do 
to  him.  He  is  interested  philanthropically,  as  well 
as  scientifically,  in  the  most  minute  symptom  of  the 
most  ordinary  patient,  who  is  encouraged  by  the 
sympathetic  magnetism  of  his  voice  and  eye  to  "tell 
him  just  how  he  feels."  lie  scribbles  no  unneces 
sary  recipes  for  his  own  benefit,  or  the  apotheca 
ries'  ;  and  speaks  so  cheerfully  when  he  leaves,  that 
the  sick  man  half  doubts,  after  all,  if  anything  is  the 
matter  with  him. 

Then  there  is  your  young,  new-fledged  Doctor, 
who  gives  physic  as  a  little  boy  touches  off  a  fire 
cracker,  rather  uncertain  whether  it  will  blow  him, 
or  his  neighbor,  or  both,  sky-high. 

Then  there  is  your  Ladies'  Doctor,  "  the  hand 
some  creature,"  who  lifts  his  eyes  with  well-acted 
astonishment  that  these  dear  beings  can  endure  a 
pain,  or  an  ache,  and  still  live  ;  who  says  just  what 


106  All  About  Doctors. 

they  want  him  to,  in  the  way  of  prescribing  "  little 
journeys  "and  savory  messes ;  and  coaxes  all  their 
little  troubles  over  their  lips  till  they  are  more 
astonished  at  themselves  than  the  Doctor  is  at  them. 

Then  there  is  your  blunt  pop-gun  Doctor,  who 
has  no  time  nor  inclination  for  nonsense,  and  jerks 
out  his  opinion  as  he  would  a  mouthful  of  tobacco ; 
and  they  who  don't  like  it,  are  welcome  to  move  out 
of  the  way.  AYho  feels  your  pulse,  and  pronounces 
you  a  prospective  dead  man,  or  woman,  as  coolly  as 
if  the  intelligence  concerned  you  no  more  than  him 
self. 

Then  there  is  the  eccentric  Doctor,  who  adver 
tises  himself  by  some  peculiarity  of  costume,  like 
knee-breeches,  or  cocked  hat,  or  long,  flowing  hair, 
and  is  never  better  pleased  than  when  everybody  is 
saying  :  "  Who  can  that  be  ? " 

Then  there  is  your  celebrated  Surgeon,  who  has 
long  since  bade  good-by  to  his  own  nerves,  and 
who  looks  at  every  man,  woman,  and  child  with  a 
view  to  their  "  cutting  up."  When  about  to  com 
mence  an  operation  before  a  class  of  gaping 
students,  mark  the  gleaming,  circling  flourish  of  his 
pet-knife  in  the  air,  before  descending  upon  his 
chloroform-bound  victim  !  The  operation  properly 
and  deftly  performed,  his  part  is  done.  The 
Almighty  is  responsible  for  the  rest. 

Finally,  and  lastly,  it  is  all  very  nice  to  laugh  at 
Doctors  when  one  is  sound  and  well ;  but  let  a  good 
smart  pain  come,  and  none  so  ready,  as  those  who 
do  so,  to  send  a  telegraphic  summons  for  their 


All  About  Doctors.  107 

speedy  appearance.  With  this  substantial  proof  of 
their  power,  let  them  snap  their  fingers  at  criticism 
and  be  jolly. 


How  TO  PUT  THE  CHILDREN  TO  BED. — Not  with 
a  reproof  for  any  of  that  day's  sins  of  omission  or 
commission.  Take  any  other  time  but  bedtime  for 
that.  If  you  ever  heard  a  little  creature  sighing  or 
sobbing  in  its  sleep,  you  could  never  do  this.  Seal 
their  closing  eyelids  with  a  kiss  and  a  blessing.  The 
time  will  come,  all  too  soon,  when  they  will  lay  their 
heads  upon  their  pillows  lacking  both.  Let  them 
then  at  least  have  this  sweet  memory  of  a  happy 
childhood,  of  which  no  future  sorrow  or  trouble  can 
rob  them.  Give  them  their  rosy  youth.  Nor  need 
this  involve  wild  license.  The  judicious  parent  will 
not  so  mistake  my  meaning.  If  you  have  ever  met 
the  man  or  the  woman  whose  eyes  have  suddenly 
filled  when  a  little  child  has  crept  trustingly  to  its 
mother's  breast,  you  may  have  seen  one  in  whose 
childhood's  home  "  Dignity  "  and  "  Severity  "  stood 
where  Love  and  Pity  should  have  been.  Too  much 
indulgence  has  ruined  thousands  of  children;  too 
much  Love  not  one. 


LETTER  TO  HENRY  WARD 
B  EEC  HER. 


"  There  has  been  a  very  jolly  set  of  children  in  my  house  since 
the  box  [of  mixed  candies]  came.  I  have  made  a  scientific  an 
alysis  with  such  means  as  I  had  at  hand — my  tongue  and  palate 
— and  am  of  opinion  that  it  is  pure,  and  am  sure  that  it  is  good 
(T  know  that  Fanny  Fern  is  sorry  that  she  ever  wrote  a  word 
against  candy,  and  stands  pouting,  to  think  that  I  have  all  the 
sweets  on  my  side)." — Mr.  Bcecher  in  N.  Y.  Ledger. 


>  OUTING?    Not  a  bit  of  it.     After  I  make 
up  my  mind  a  thing  is  past  being  helped,  I 
always  turn  my  giant  mind  to  something 
else. 

Now,  "  your  riverence,"  your  love  for  "  sweets  "  is 
not  a  thing  of  yesterday.  I  mind  me  of  a  young 
man,  of  your  name,  who  once  came  to  a  boarding- 
school,  where  I,  at  sixteen,  was  placed  for  algebra 
and  safe-keeping,  both  of  which  I  hated,  and  who 
invited  me  to  take  several  surreptitious  rides  with 
him,  which  I  did ;  and  which  will  probably  first 
come  to  the  knowledge  of  his  sister,  my  teacher, 
through  this  number  of  the  New  York  Ledger. 
What  Plymouth  church  has  escaped,  in  the  way  of 
an  infliction,  by  that  young  man's  going  to  college 
about  that  time,  and  my  return  to  the  "  bosom  of  my 
family,"  to  learn  the  "  Lost  Arts,"  bread-making  and 


Letter  to  Henry  Ward  Beeclier.      109 

button-hole  stitching,  Plymouth  church  may  now 
for  the  first  time  learn. 

And  now,  having  paid  you  off  for  your  little  pub 
lic  dig  at  me,  I  proceed  magnanimously  to  admit, 
that  I  believe  a  bit  x>f  pure  candy,  given  to  a  child 
as  dessert  after  a  wholesome  meal,  is  perfectly 
harmless.  But  not  even  the  gifted  pastor  of  Ply 
mouth  church,  whose  sermons,  to  me,  are  like  a 
spring  of  water  in  the  desert,  can  ever  make  me  be 
lieve  that  an  indiscriminate  nibble  of  even  pure 
candy  between  meals  is  good  for  any  child. 

Now,  Mr.  Beecher,  we  are  both  grandfathers — I 
mean,  you  are  a  grandfather,  and  I  am  a  grand 
mother.  I  now  propose  to  pit  my  grandchild 
against  yours  on  the  candy  question,  and  see  which, 
in  the  future,  brings  us  the  heaviest  dentist  and 
doctor's  bills.  We  won't  scratch  each  other's  eyes 
out  now,  both  on  account  of  "  auld  lang  syne,"  and 
on  account  of  the  dignity  of  our  position — I  mean 
the  dignity  of  yours. 

I  have  one  thing  against  you  besides  candy,  and 
that  is,  that  I  can  never  get  a  seat  at  your  church. 
As  everybody  is  giving  you  advice,  of  which,  by  the 
way,  I  too  have  plenty,  I  advise  you  to  remove  to 
New  York,  that  I  may  be  able,  without  getting  up 
in  the  middle  of  the  night  in  order  to  cross  the 
ferry,  to  get  a  seat  in  one  of  your  pews.  You  have 
been  in  Brooklyn  now  for  a  long  time,  and  if  the 
people  over  there  haven't  yet  become  angels,  it  is 
high  time  you  tried  your  hand  on  the  other  kind  in 
New  York. 


110     Letter  to  Henry  Ward  Beecher. 

I  propose  the  site  of  the  present  Bible  House,  as 
being  a  nice  walk  from  my  residence,  which  is  the 
main  thing  to  be  considered.  I  will  agree  to  find 
your  pulpit  in  flowers — (not  of  oratory ;  that  is  for 
you !) 

Hoping  that  you  will  be  able  to  turn  from  your 
beloved  box  of  candy  to  an  early  consideration  of 
this  question,  I  am — leaving  out  candy — 

Your  faithful  adherent,  FANNY  FERN. 


ONE  KIND  OF  FOOL. — It  is  very  instructive  some 
times,  at  a  place  of  country  resort,  to  watch  the 
woman  who  has  come  only  to  exhibit  her  changes  of 
wardrobe.  For  a  day  or  two,  possibly  longer,  she 
goes  through  her  solitary  dress-rehearsals.  Finding 
at  last  that  the  rest  of  the  boarders  wear  rubbers 
and  water-proofs,  and  live  out  of  doors  in  all  weath 
ers,  the  woman  who  came  to  dress,  gets  weary  of 
waiting  for  admirers,  and  reluctantly  joins  the  sen 
sible  majority,  rather  than  be  left  alone ;  but  gen 
erally  with  an  apologetic,  "  How  odd  it  seems,  not 
to  dress  for  dinner  as  one  does  in  the  city,"  by  way 
of  letting  herself  gently  down  from  her  snobbish 
pedestal.  We  are  happy  to  add,  however,  that  the 
number  of  women  who  go  into  the  country  to  dress 
is  becoming  fewer  every  year  ;  folly  in  this  regard 
having  reached  its  ultimatum  of  loathsomeness. 


THE  AMENITIES  OF  THE  TABLE. 


JASTIDIOUSNESS,  in  any  regard,  is  a  mis 
fortune,  as  two-thirds  of  mankind  have  no 
such  word  in  their  dictionary.  But  in  mat 
ters  of  the  table  we  claim  for  every  human  being  a 
large  margin  of  license  as  to  peculiarities  of  taste. 
E"ow  helping  at  table  is  a  science.  To  tact  and  skill 
your  helper  must  needs  add  benevolence.  He  or 
she  must  be  capable  of  comprehending  that  too 
large  a  slice,  or  too  brimming  a  spoonful,  may  save 
the  trouble  of  helping  twice,  in  more  ways  than  one, 
as  it  may  effectually  destroy  the  appetite.  Your 
helper  must  not  suppose  that  safely  to  land  a  piece 
of  meat  on  the  plate,  instead  of  the  table-cloth,  his 
or  her  duty  is  done ;  on  the  contrary,  the  boundary 
line  between  squash  and  spinach,  cranberry  sauce 
and  cauliflower,  may  be  distinctly  defined  with  ad 
vantage  to  many  stomachs  and  palates.  Nor  must 
your  helper  close  his  or  her  eyes  to  the  fact  that 
some  specified  joint,  or  bone,  or  slice,  may  be  disa 
greeable,  through  some  unexplainable  though  very 
decided  antipathy.  Nor  must  he  or  she  disdain  to 
be  informed,  if  ignorant  of  the  fact,  that  a  bit  of 
butter  has  a  better  relish  if  it  be  not  flattened  down 
on  your  plate,  after  the  manner  of  an  apothecary 


112        The  Amenities  of  the  Table. 

spreading  a  plaster.  Then  gravy  is  undoubtedly  a 
meritorious  liquid  when  one  has  a  confidential  phy 
sician,  and  money  enough  to  fee  him  ;  but  as  this  is 
not  always  the  case,  one  may  be  pardoned  for  not 
wishing  to  have  it  taken  for  granted  that  it  is  to  be 
soused  over  his  food,  without  permission.  Once  I 
saw  a  philanthropic  carver.  His  patience  and  as 
siduity  were  beyond  all  praise ;  but  in  an  evil  day, 
in  a  philosophical  mood,  inspecting  him  too  closely 
with  admiring  eyes,  I  discovered  the  fatal  spring  of 
his  amiability.  It  was  only  a  blind  for  the  secretion 
of  his  favorite  titbits  till,  his  labors  over,  the  de 
licious  process  of  mastication  should  commence  for 
him!  That's  what  comes  of  looking  too  closely 
into  things.  It  has  happened  to  ine  before. 

The  Smiths  believe  that  edibles  were  made  to 
eat ;  and  that  digestion  is  a  humbug  invented  by  the 
doctors;  and  that  milk  and  cider,  and  pastry  and 
vinegar,  and  candy  and  raisins,  and  flapjacks  and 
pickles,  and  jellies,  can  be  eaten  in  successive  strata  at 
any  hour  in  the  twenty-four,  and  in  any  condition  of 
body  or  mind,  and  repose  quietly  together  like  "  the 
Happy  Family."  The  Smiths  believe  in  getting  up 
in  the  middle  of  the  night  to  eat  and  then  going  to 

o  o         o 

bed  upon  it ;  they  believe  in  taking  a  bath  alike  on  a 
full  or  an  empty  stomach,  and  they  utterly  despise 
exercise.  If  they  are  sick,  it  is  never  on  account  of 
any  of  these  barbaric  heresies. 

Now,  the  Joneses,  having  studied  physiology,  look 
upon  food -as  a  necessary  evil.  2so  Rabbi  could 
more  utterly  sniff  down  pork.  Grease  in  every 


The  Amenities  of  the  Table.        113 

form  is  tabooed ;  preserves  and  pastry  sent  to  Cov 
entry,  or  only  set  before  company,  who  have  an  un 
doubted  right  to  kill  themselves  if  fashion  requires 
it.  The  Joneses,  when  helping  you  at  table,  always 
prefix  the  offered  morsel  with,  Pray  take  it,  it  is  so 
healthful ;  or,  It  will  assist  your  digestion  ;  or,  It  is 
an  excellent  corrective ;  till  the  association  between 
potatoes  and  physic,  meat  and  medicine,  is  so  inti 
mate,  that  one  ceases  to  regard  these  edibles  in  the 
light  of  food.  You  are  cautioned  against  veal  be 
cause  of  necessity  it  must  be  young  meat ;  against 
fish,  lest  it  may  aggravate  a  possible  scrofulous  ten 
dency;  against  tea,  because  the  leaves  may  have 
been  dried  011  copper ;  against  milk,  because  you 
are  unacquainted  with  the  pedigree  of  the  cow  from 
whence  it  came.  Bread  is  microscopically  in 
spected  for  imaginary  adulterations,  and  after  all 
these  precautions  the  timid  Joneses,  restricted  to 
the  simplest  forms  of  two  or  three  permissible 
and  monotonous  eatables,  swallow  even  these  ner 
vously,  and  with  an  eye  to  the  undertaker ;  and  if 
attacked  by  headache,  submit  to  it  meekly,  as  a  pen 
ance  for  some  unknown  infringement  of  nature's 
law. 

Now  the  Adamses  believe  in  quantity,  not  quality. 
An  ounce  of  paving-stones  is  as  good  as  an  ounce  of 
mutton ;  in  other  words,  you  may  eat  your  grand 
mother  with  impunity,  if  you  only  confine  yourself 
to  a  small  piece,  and  are  jolly  over  it.  Luckily  for 
butchers,  confectioners,  grocers,  doctors,  and  sextons, 
each  of  these  hobbies  finds  its  followers. 
8 


114        The  Amenities  of  the  Table. 

I  believe  in  eating.  The  person  who  affects  to 
despise  it  either  comforts  himself  with  private  bites, 
or  is  unfitted  by  disease  to  eat  at  all.  It  does  not 
disenchant  me,  as  it  does  some,  to  see  "  a  woman 
eat."  I  know  that  the  dear  creatures  cannot  keep 
up  their  plumpness  on  saw-dust,  or  the  last  "  Lady's 
Book."  I  look  at  them  as  the  future  mothers  of 
healthy  little  children ;  and  I  say  mentally,  Eat,  my 
dears,  and  be  satisfied ;  but  be  sure  that  you  take  a 
good  walk  after  you  have  digested  your  food.  Still 
there  may  be  limits  to  one's  tolerance  even  in  this 
regard.  The  other  morning,  at  a  hotel  breakfast,  I 
had  been  contemplating  with  great  interest  a  fair 
creature,  who  took  her  seat  opposite  to  me,  in  all  the 
freshness  of  a  maiden's  morning  toilette.  Smooth 
hair,  tranquil  brow,  blue  eyes,  and  a  little  neat  white 
collar  finishing  off  a  very  pretty  morning-robe  ;  and 
here  you  will  permit  me  to  remark  that,  if  women 
did  but  know  it,  but  they  don't,  and  never  will,  a 
ball-room  toilette  is  nothing  to  a  neat  breakfast  dress. 
Well,  my  fairy  read  the  bill  of  fare,  while  I  admired 
the  long  eyelashes  that  swept  her  cheek.  Straight 
way  she  raised  her  pretty  head,  and  lisped  this  order 
to  the  colored  waiter  at  her  elbow  : 

"  John !  Coffee,  Fried  Pigs'  Feet,  Fried  Oysters, 
Omelette,  Pork  Steak." 


MANY  MEN  OF  MANY  MINDS. 


is  very  curious  with  what  different  eyes 
different  people  may  look  upon  the  same  ob 
ject.  Not  long  since  a  lady  and  gentleman 
in  travelling  arrived  at  the  hotel  of  one  of  our  larg 
est  watering-places  just  at  the  dinner-hour.  The 
lady,  preferring  a  warm  meal  to  an  elaborate  toilette, 
proposed  going  in  "just  as  they  were."  Seating 
themselves  in  the  places  designated  by  that  impor 
tant  personage,  the  head  waiter,  they  inspected  the 
tempting  bill  of  fare,  gave  their  orders,  and  bided 
their  time,  longer  or  shorter,  for  their  completion  ; 
the  hotel  being  overcrowded,  it  proved  to  be  longer. 
The  lady  solaced  herself  by  reviewing  the  guests. 
Presently,  touching  her  companion's  arm,  she  ex 
claimed  :  "  Look  !  did  you  ever  see  a  more  beautiful 
woman  ?  Look  at  her  throat,  and  the  poise  of  her 
head,  and  her  lovely  profile.  See  !  how  she  smiles  ! 
hasn't  she  a  lovely  mouth  ?  "  "  Pshaw  !  "  replied 
the  gentleman,  "  I  dare  say  she's  well  enough,  but 
do  you  suppose  that  boiled  mutton  I  ordered  will 
ever  arrive  ?  " 

The  other  day  a  beautiful  child  came  into  an 
omnibus  with  its  nurse.  It  commenced  smiling  at 
all  the  passengers,  pointing  its  tiny  forefinger  at  this 


116       Many  Men  of  Many  Minds. 

one  and  that,  by  way  of  making  acquaintance.  One 
old  gentleman  in  the  far  corner  responded  by  a 
series  of  signals  with  a  red-silk  pocket  handkerchief, 
to  which  the  social  little  baby  made  ready  response. 
Another  gentleman  near,  upon  whose  newspaper  the 
smiling  child  laid  its  hand  with  trusting  fearlessness, 
looked  over  his  spectacles  at  it  with  a  frown,  gave 
an  ngly  grunt,  and  shortly  turned  his  back,  to  pre 
vent  a  repetition  of  the  familiarity. 

"  How  did  you  like  the  Eev.  Mr. 's  sermon  ? " 

asked  a  gentleman  of  another,  as  they  were  leaving 
the  church.  "  Solid  gold,  every  word  of  it,"  re 
plied  he ;  "  sound  doctrine  eloquently  presented." 
"  Strange  !  "  replied  the  querist ;  "  for  my  own  part, 
I  was  so  disgusted,  that  1  could  with  difficulty  keep 
my  seat."  "  What !  a  minister  raise  a  smile  on  the 
faces  of  his  audience  in  such  a  solemn  place !  I 
wonder  what  my  old  pastor,  Dr.  Dry-Starch  would 
have  thought  of  such  a  proceeding !  lie  always 
taught  us  that  this'  was  a  solemn  world ;  and  that 
the  man  who  laughed  in  it  might  very  likely  be 
laughing  over  the  very  spot  where  in  time  he  might 
be  buried." 

"  How  do  you  like  Mr.  Theophilus  Tennant's  new 
novel  ? "  asked  one  lady  of  another.  "  Well,  if  you 
want  my  honest  opinion,"  replied  the  latter,  "  I  con 
sider  it  a  shallow,  egotistical,  inflated  affair,  what 
ever  paid  critics  may  assert  to  the  contrary."  "  Pos 
sible  ? "  exclaimed  the  querist ;  "  why,  I  was  so  de 
lighted  with  it  that  I  had  serious  thoughts  of  ad 
dressing  a  letter  of  thanks  to  the  owner  for  the 


Many  Men  of  Many  Minds.        117 

pleasure  he  had  afforded  me,  although  1  never  saw 
or  spoke  to  him." 

"  What  a  splendid  specimen  of  a  '  man !  "  ex 
claimed  Miss  Twenty  to  Mrs.  Thirty-five.  "  It 
makes  one  feel  stronger  and  better  to  be  in  the  same 
room  with  him."  "  Heavens  !  "  exclaimed  the  ma 
tron  ;  "  I  can  think  of  nothing  when  I  see  him  but 
a  great,  lumbering,  overgrown,  Newfound  land  dog. 
A  man  with  so  much  surplus  body  to  look  after 
can't  have  much  time  for  anything  else." 

And  so  we  might  multiply  instances  ad  infini- 
tum  (which  is  about  all  the  Latin  1  know).  For  rny 
own  part  I  don't  quarrel  witli  that  diversity  of  taste 
which  finds  pretty  wives  for  ugly  husbands,  fine, 
smart  husbands  for  silly  women,  full  congregations 
for  prosy  ministers,  overflowing  audiences  for  flat 
lecturers,  and  a  reading  parish,  notwithstanding  her 
faults,  for  Fanny  Fern. 


MY  NOTION    OF  A    WALKING    COM 
PANION. 

F  all  small  miseries,  an  uncongenial  walking 
comPani°n  is  the  most  annoying.  Some 
people  take  a  walk  as  they  would  study  the 
multiplication  table.  It  is  a  necessary  performance, 
to  be  got  over  as  soon  as  possible.  I  am  not  allud 
ing  to  that  class  of  human  oyster,  but  to  those  who, 
after  close  application,  or  the  exhausting  wear  and 
fret  of  everyday  life,  feel  as  though  the  four  walls 
about  them  were  gradually  contracting,  and  their 
chance  for  breath  growing  fainter  and  fainter;  to 
whom  fresh  air  and  the  blue  sky  are  as  necessary  as 
is  dew  and  sunshine  to  flowers ;  and  like  them,  with 
out  which,  they  as  certainly  droop  and  die ; — such 
will  understand  what  I  mean  by  that  misused  term 
— a  walk.  Not  a  dawdle,  not  a  feminine  "  calling  " 

o 

tour ;  nor  an  errand  of  any  sort,  for  any  purpose 
under  heaven,  that  can  be  construed  into  business  ; 
but  a  dreamy  lounge,  irrespective  of  anything  but 
the  cool  feel  of  the  air  on  the  heated  temples,  and 
the  great,  ceaseless,  murmuring  wave  of  life  beating 
against  the  shore  of  time,  bearing  you  and  others 
on  its  bosom  wheresoever  God  willeth.  People 
pass  you  like  moving  shadows,  you  hear  the  pleasant 
hum  of  their  voices,  but  do  not  know  in  your  som- 


My  Notion  of  a  Walking  Companion.   119 

nambnlistic  mood  whether  they  are  familiar  faces 
or  not.  Yon  only  thank  God  for  unfettered  limbs, 
and  fresh  air,  and  motion ;  beyond  that,  for  the 
time  being,  you  desire  to  know  nothing.  Ah,  then 
— to  be  unexpectedly  linked  to  some  human  fidget ! 
Whose  limbs  jerk  this  way  and  that,  as  if  they  were 
pulled  by  invisible  wires ;  who  goes  first  fast,  then 
slow ;  then  pulls  you  up  with  a  short  jerk  to  look  at 
something;  who  bothers  you  with  infinitesimal 
small  talk ;  who  ceaselessly  interlards  inquiries 
which  chain  yon  remorselessly  to  the  tug-boat  of  his 
or  her  ideas,  without  leave  of  mental  absence  for 
one  reprieving  moment ;  and  all  this  very  likely 
accompanied  writh  the  most  friendly  and  amiable 
intentions  on  the  part  of  your  entertainer  (?).  To 
say  "  ^"o  "  and  "  Yes  "  recklessly — and  laugh  in  the 
wrong  place,  and  go  home  a  million  times  more 
weary  than  when  you  started,  beside  feeling  that 
you  have  hopelessly  excluded  yourself  from  the  list 
of  sane  human  beings — that's  what  I  call  misery. 
But,  ah!  the  ecstatic  bliss  of  walking -with  one 

'  ,  ^ 

who  thinks  with  you,  as  he  moves  dreamily  on  with 
out  speech — to  be  free  to  utter  or  to  be  silent,  and 
no  offence  given  or  taken.  To  be  allowed  to  wan 
der  leagues  off,  without  fear  of  being  rudely  jerked 
back  to  time,  at  any  unpropitious  moment. 

To  turn  this  corner  and  that,  by  some  mutual 
magnetic  understanding,  that  you  smile  at  after 
ward,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it,  as  strangely 
funny  and  agreeable.  To  reach  your  own  door-step 
as  rested  and  refreshed,  and  with  as  cool  and  tran- 


120  My  Notion  of  a  Walking  Companion. 

quil  a  brow,  as  if  your  own  mother  bad  sung  you 
to  sleep  with  the  old-time  nursery  lullaby.  To  go 
back  with  fresh  heart  and  spirit,  to  take  up  your 
burden  of  duty  where  weary  nature  had  lain  it 
hopelessly  down.  That's  my  kind  of  "  walk." 

There  are  certain  persons  whom  to  meet  is  like 
opening  the  window  of  a  close  apartment  on  a 
delicious  June  day.  The  first  breath  is  an  inspira 
tion.  You  throwback  your  locks  from  your  heated 
forehead,  and  your  weary  eyes,  and  ask  nothing  but 
to  sit  down  and  let  this  soother  minister  to  you. 
All  your  cares,  and  frets,  one  by  one  creep  away, 
and  a  new  life  and  vigor  seem  infused  into  every 
nerve  and  muscle.  You  are  not  the  same  creature 
that  you  were  ten  minutes  before.  You  are  ready 
after  all  to  do  valiant  battle  with  life,  though  you 
had  supposed  yourself  quite  surrendered  to  its 
everyday,  petty,  and  harassing  tyrant  necessities. 
Exuberant  animal  strength  must  needs  carry  "with  it 
hopefulness  and  courage;  and  they  whose  nerves 
have  been  strained  and  weakened  by  past  trouble, 
welcome  the  breezy,  fresh  influence  of  such,  like 
Heaven's  own  dew  and  sunshine.  It  is  a  tonic,  the 
blessing  of  which  the  unconscious  giver  knows  not 
how  to  appreciate  perhaps,  but  oh  how  invaluable 
to  the  receiver  !  A  soulful  face,  an  exultant  word 
— a  light,  springing  step !  We  raise  our  weary 
eyes  first  in  wonder,  then  in  admiration ;  and  the 
sympathetic  chord  thus  struck — the  brow  clears,  the 
eyes  brighten,  and  life  seems — not  the  curse  we 
morbidly  thought  it — but  the  blessing  God  Intended 
it. 


MEN  TEACHERS  IN  GIRL&  SCHOOLS. 


AM  inclined  to  think,  with  all  due  defer 
ence  to  the  powers  that  be,  that  male  teach 
ers  are  not  best  for  young  girls.  It  takes  a 
woman,  who  understands  all  the  witcheries  of  the 
sex,  and  off  whom  they  glance  harmless,  like  water 
off  a  turtle's  back,  to  deal  with  these  young  kittens ; 
they  have  more  fun  than  geography  can  absorb,  and 
are  not  to  be  feruled  like  a  great  cub  of  a  boy, 
whose  whole  future  life  will  be  license  after  jacket- 
dom,  as  decreed  by  society  and  the  laws ;  while  a 
severe  woman-discipline  surely  awaits  the  most 
frolicsome  girl,  beginning  from  the  moment  when 
she  first  learns  what  her  heart  is  made  of,  till  death 
stills  its  yearnings. 

And  yet  I  pity  a  male  teacher  of  girls,  whose 
studied  dignity  is  in  a  second  dethroned  by  a  single 
pantomimic  gesture  of  some  bright-eyed  young  flirt, 
who  feels  her  power  without  yet  being  old  enough 
to  understand  it,  and  with  an  instinctive  coquetry 
gets  on  his  blind  side,  turning  all  his  fore-ordained 
frowns  into  ill-suppressed  smiles.  How  can  he  box 
those  little  round  ears  ?  How  can  he  disfigure  those 
soft,  white  palms?  How  can  he— sending  all  the 
other  pupils  home— trust  himself,  after  school,  alone 


122     Men  Teachers  in  Girls1  Schools. 

with  those  bright  eyes,  to  put  them  through  a  subdu 
ing  tear  process  ?  Ten  to  one  the  "  subduing  "  is  on 
the  other  side ! 

Said  I  to  a  little  girl,  not  many  mornings  since^ 
who  was  getting  ready  for  school,  "  Why  do  you 
put  on  that  bright  new  dress  to  go,  when  your  old 
brown  one  would  do  as  well?"  "Oh,"  was  her  re 
ply,  "  I  haven't  got  my  lesson  to-day,  and  of  course 
I  must  look  pretty."  There's  fourteen-year-old  fe 
male  knowledge  of  human  nature  for  you  !  Imag 
ine  a  boy  putting  on  his  best  jacket  for  such  a 
purpose. 

There  must  be  discipline,  that's  certain  ;  but,  in 
my  opinion,  a  man's  head  must  be  gray,  not  brown 
or  black,  if  he  would  enforce  it ;  his  blood  must  be 
cold  and  sluggish,  and  his  ear  deaf  to  the  charmer, 
charm  she  never  so  cunningly,  or,  certes,  his  magis 
terial  chair  will  be  set  at  naught.  Don't  I  know ! 
Answer  me,  thou  now  "  Reverend  "  gentleman,  who 
once  kept  me  after  school  for  a  reprimand,  and  spent 
the  precious  moments  rolling  my  curls  over  your 
fingers,  while  my  comrade  was  bursting  off  her  hooks 
and  eyes  as  she  peeped  through  the  key -hole.  Isot 
that  I  uphold  it,  but  every  animal  naturally  fights 
with  the  weapons  a  good  Providence  has  given  it — 
and  somehow  or  other  I  had  found  that  out ;  though 
whether  France  was  bounded  south  by  Rhode  Island 
or  not  was  still  a  mystery  that  I  was  not  in  a  hurry 
to  solve. 

Still,  for  all  that,  I  pity  a  male  teacher  who  is  set 
to  the  impossible  task  of  making  girls  "  behave."  I 


Men  Teachers  in  Girls'  Schools.     123 

should  pity  them  more,  did  I  not  know  that  they 
keep  them  in  school  about  four  or  five  hours  longer 
than  they  ought.  Did  I  not  know  what  they  know, 
but  will  persist  practically  in  ignoring,  that  the  fun 
has  got  to  come  out  somehow,  or  turn  to  poison  in 
the  blood,  and  that  if  teachers  won't  give  it  whiz 
zing  time  out  of  school,  they  must  needs  have  it  fly 
in  their  faces  in  school.  I  should  pity  them  more, 
did  I  not,  every  clay,  see  their  pupils  staggering 
home  under  a  pile  of  stupidly  written  school-books, 
fit  only  to  kindle  the  kitchen  fire — thank  goodness 
their  little  beaux  sometimes  save  their  arms  from 
dislocation,  by  gallantly  carrying  them  home  for 
them.  Do  I  approve  of  boy-beaux  ?  "Why  not  ? 
Don't  every  rosebud  draw  its  humming-bird  ?  Did 
not  God  make  them  both  for  this  harmless,  innocent 
delight  ?  You  had  your  boy-beaux,  madam  ;  I  had 
mine,  by  the  score.  Only  teach  your  daughter  to 
love  you  well  enough  to  conceal  nothing,  however 
minute,  from  you ;  only  show  her  that  you  have  a 
heart,  and  don't  want  her  to  pluck  out  lier's,  and  my 
word  for  it,  no  harm  will  come  of  her  "  boy -beaux." 
It  is  your  repression  that  does  the  mischief — your 
ignoring  your  own  youth  and  hers.  The  child  who 
has  leave  to  pluck  the  apple  often  leaves  it  un 
touched,  undesired,  on  the  tree. 

Meantime  our  male  teacher  stands  there,  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  waiting  to  see  what  is  to  be 
done  with  him.  Well,  his  pockets  are  the  best  place 
for  his  hands  when  he  is  keeping  a  girls'  school ; 
and  with  this  advice  I  leave  him,  until  he  is  sixty  or 


124     Men  Teachers  in  Girls'  Schools. 

so,  when,  if  lie  chooses  to  open  a  girls'  school,  I 
promise  him  at  least,  that  he  will  not  go  to  sleep 
during  the  services. 

Now  let  no  conservative  accuse  me  of  upholding 
school  rebellion.  It  is  because  I  do  not  do  this  that 
I  express  my  preference  for  women  teachers,  both 
principals  and  assistants,  for  girls ;  having  an  under 
standing  of,  and  impervious  to,  girl  witcheries,  whom 
the  little  rogues  know,  having  been  girls  themselves, 
can  see  through  them,  and  for  whom  pretty  looks 
or  dresses  will  never  answer  instead  of  well-digested 
lessons. 


A  SAFE  AMUSEMENT. — All  children  are  fond  of 
animal  pets,  but  it  is  so  difficult  to  manage  such 
pets  in  a  city  that  no  family  can  indulge  its  chil 
dren's  tastes  in  that  respect  to  any  great  extent. 
No  one  can  have  watched  the  children  in  the  Cen 
tral  Park,  as  they  gaze  at  and  linger  over  the  bears 
and  tigers  and  strange  birds,  without  wishing  that 
the  little  zoologists  had  a  wider  field  and  better 
opportunities  for  pursuing  the  study  of  natural  his 
tory.  There  ought  to  be  a  permanent  collection  of 
animals  «and  birds  in  New  York,  in  some  good 
situation,  where  children  and  young  people  could 
have  ample  opportunity,  under  proper  restrictions, 
to  indulge  their  natural  taste  for  natural  history. 
Every  hour  thus  employed  would  be  a  safeguard 
against  the  myriad  temptations  to  vice  and  idleness 
which  pervade  the  city. 


MY  CALL  ON  «  DEXTER? 


IHE  other  evening  I  went  up  to  Fifty-sixth 
street  to  see  the  new  stable.  Mr.  BONNER 
was  out,  but  his  horses  were  not.  Now  I 
didn't  go  to  see  them  do  their  2.40's,  but  to  gaze  at 
them  artistically ;  and,  of  course,  I  wanted  them  to 
stand  long  enough  for  me  to  do  it,  which  I  believe 
is  not  their  normal  condition.  I  had  a  fancy,  too, 
for  inspecting  them  through  the  bars  of  their  re 
spective  doors;  for,  you  see,  my  nerves  had  been 
thrown  a  little  out  of  gear  by  a  huge  blood-hound, 
that  made  for  me  as  I  wras  entering  the  stable-yard, 
but  who,  in  consideration  of  my  being  a  Ledger 
contributor,  let  me  off  easy  in  my  boots. 

Well,  the  first  thing  that  struck  my  New  England 
bred  eyes  was  the  perfect  neatness  and  polish  and 
beauty,  of  every  inch  of  floor  and  ceiling  in  that 
stable.  A  place  for  everything,  and  everything  in 
its  place,  and  Mrs.  BONNER  nothing  to  do  with 
it  either!  Shining  harness,  shining  vehicles,  big 
wheels  and  small  seats,  and  nothing  to  hold  on  to — 
but  the  natty  reins ;  a  perfectly  awful  reflection  to 
me,  but  then  Mr.  BONNER'S  arm  is  an  arm  !  On  the 
wall  was  something  the  size  of  a  full  moon  ;  red, 
with  a  fanciful  oak  frame.  It  looked  like  a  huge 


126  My  Call  on  "Dexter." 

pincushion,  and  sure  enough  it  was.  Stuck  full  of 
wooden  pins,  to  fasten  the  blankets  of  those  horses 
round  their  wicked,  strong  necks.  If  it  hadn't  been 
for  that  blood-hound,  which  I  heard  sniffing  round 
after  me  from  the  outside,  I  should  have  inspected 
it  more  carefully ;  but  it  was  fastened  to  the  wall 
near  the  door,  and — well,  I  thought  I'd  pass  on  to 
see  Dexter.  My  dear !  your  new  seal-skin  sack  isn't 
softer,  browner,  nor  more  lovely  than  that  creature's 
skin.  And  as  to  his  tail,  your  latest  "switch"  is 
nothing  to  it !  Mr.  BONNER  not  being  present  to 
Rarey-fy  him,  he  kicked  out  his  hind  leg  at  me  in  a 
very  suggestive  manner  ;  so,  with  an  Oh,  gracious  ! 
I  requested  to  have  his  door  closed,  for  there  was  a 
glitter  in  his  eye  which  was  not  at  all  Scriptural. 
Besides,  I  once  flew  through  Harlem  Lane  behind 
him,  and  didn't  get  the  color  back  into  my  lips  for  a 
week  after.  To  compose  myself  I  passed  on  to 
Lantern,  the  Grandpa  of  the  stable,  though  I  have 
known  Grandparents  rather  frisky  in  my  day.  He 
was  reposing  on  his  laurels,  and  turned  round  his 
head  to  me  as  if  to  ask,  Why  don't  you  ?  Alas !  1 
have  yet  to  earn  them,  and  unlike  him,  I  have  to 
pin  on  my  own  blanket,  and  comb  my  own  hair,  and 
buy  my  own  shoes  ;  that's  why  I  don't,  old  Lan 
tern. 

Then  I  went  to  see  Startle,  as  if  I  needed  start 
ling  any  more,  when  I  had  been  muttering  pater 
nosters  ever  since  I  saw  that  horrid  blood  hound. 
Well,  Startle  is  a  beauty,  and  he  knew  it  too.  Just 
like  a  piece  of  satin,  with  his  tail  sweeping  the  floor. 


My  Call  on  "Dexter."  127 

After  I  had  looked  at  the  whole  ten,  I  said  to  my 
self,  if  ever  a  man  earned  the  right  to  all  these 
beautiful  creatures,  ROBEKT  BONNER  has,  from  the 
time  he  first  began  to  set  types  in  a  printing  office, 
down,  or  rather  up,  to  the  present  day.  Every 
proud  moment  that  he  enjoys  them,  in  or  out  of  that 
handsome  stable,  he  is  fairly  entitled  to ;  and  he  is 
entitled  to  that  blood-hound,  and  I  wouldn't  rob  him 
of  that  for  the  wide  world ! 


LADIES  "  WITHOUT  AN  OBJECT." — Ladies  often 
give  as  a  reason  why  they  do  not  take  exercise, 
"Oh,  I  don't  like  to  go  out  without  an  object." 
Now  nothing  could  prove  more  clearly  their  deplor 
able  physical  condition  than  this  remark  ;  since,  to 
a  well-organized  frame,  motion  and  fresh  air  are 
positive  daily  necessities ;  irrespective  of  any  "  ob 
ject,"  save  the  cool  play  of  the  wind  on  the  temples, 
and  the  healthful  glow  which  follows  a  brisk  walk. 
Medicine  is  a  joke  to  it.  No  doctor,  be  his  diploma 
ever  so  pretentious,  could  effect  with  simple  means 
a  more  magical  result.  Considered  only  as  "a 
beautifier,"  we  marvel  that  the  female  portion  of 
the  community  neglect  it.  A  little  chilliness  in  the 
air  ?  A  little  sprinkling  of  rain  ?  A  high  wind  ? 
An  inability  to  display  a  fine  dress  ?  What  puerile 
reasons  for  growing  sallow,  irritable,  and  sick. 


THE  POETRY  OF  WORK. 

XECUTIYE  people  have  generally  the  repu- 
tation,  from  their  opposites,  of  being  ill- 
tempered  people.  Self-trained  to  the  ob 
servance  of  the  admirable  old  maxim,  that "  whatever 
is  worth  doing  at  all,  is  worth  doing  well,"  they  are 
naturally  disgusted  with  dawdling  inefficiency  and 
sloth  in  any  shape.  Chary  of  the  precious  flying 
moments,  the  most  intolerable  of  vexations  to  them 
is  to  have  their  time  trespassed  upon,  and  wasted,  in 
a  million  petty  and  unnecessary  ways,  by  the  stupid 
ity  or  culpable  thoughtlessness  of  those  about  them. 
Now  what  is  called  "  an  easy  person,"  i.e.,  a  person 
who  is  not  self-contained,  on  whose  hands  time  hangs 
heavily,  cannot  be  made  to  understand  why  a  per 
son  of  an  opposite  description  need  make  a  fuss 
about  a  few  minutes.  Why,  "  what  is  a  few  min 
utes  ?  "  they  ask.  Much,  much  in  the  course  of  a 
life-time  to  those  who  carefully  husband  them. 
Those  "few  minutes"  may  make  all  the  difference 
between  an  educated  and  an  uneducated  person ; 
between  a  man  independent  in  his  circumstances, 
and  a  man  always  under  the  grinding  heel  of  want; 
all  the  difference  between  intelligence,  thrift,  and 
system  on  one  hand,  and  ignorance,  discomfort,  and 
disaster  on  the  other.  Those  "  few  minutes,"  care- 


The  Poetry  of  Work.  129 

fully  improved  as  they  occur,  have  filled  libraries 
with  profound  and  choice  volumes ;  those  "  few 
minutes,"  saved  for  mental  cultivation,  have  enabled 
men,  and  women  too,  to  shed  over  a  life  of  toil  a 
brightness  which  made  even  monotonous  duty  a  de 
light.  Such  can  ill  afford  to  be  robbed  of  them  by 
those  unable  to  appreciate  their  value.  Like  the  in 
finitesimal  gold  scrapings  of  the  mint,  they  may  not 
be  purloined,  or  carelessly  brushed  away  by  idle  fin 
gers  ;  but  conscientiously  gathered  up  and  accounted 
for ;  to  be  molten  and  stamped  with  thought,  then 
distributed  to  bless  mankind. 

What  a  pleasure  it  is  to  see  anything  perfectly 
done.  I  never  go  "  shopping  "  that  I  do  not  look  on 
with  admiration  while  the  storekeeper  so  deftly  does 
up  my  parcels.  I  believe  no  woman  who  has  not 
acquired  the  professional  shopkeeping  touch,  can  do 
this  decently.  I  like,  too,  to  watch  a  group  of  men 
painting  a  house,  provided  the  platform  upon  which 
they  stand  is  so  strong  that  my  blood  does  not  cur 
dle  lest  their  merry  song  should  never  be  finished. 
With  what  a  dexterous,  careful,  delicate  touch  they 
brighten  up  the  unsightly  wall ;  there  is  fascination 
to  the  looker-on  in  their  skilful  progress.  Carpen 
tering,  too,  I  like  ;  what  pretty,  silky,  curled  shavings 
they  plane  off ;  how  many  times,  when  a  child,  I 
placed  them  on  my  head  for  ringlets,  have  I  men 
tally  resolved  to  be  a  carpenter's  wife,  that  I  might 
always  have  plenty.  How  sure  the  stroke  of  their 
hammer  upon  the  nail  which  a  woman  would  bend, 
or  break  in  pieces,  beside  jamming  her  fingers  to  a 
9 


130  The  Poetry  of  Work. 

jelly.  Mark  the  sturdy  porter,  too,  as  lie  tosses  a 
huge  "  Saratoga  trunk  "  lightly  as  a  feather  upon 
his  back,  and  poising  it,  marches  up  uncounted 
stairs  without  tripping  or  bumping. 

I  like  to  see  a  strong  man  holding  a  fiery  horse 
by  a  slight  rein  and  a  strong  will.  I  like  to  see  the 
oarsman  in  his  red-shirt  sleeves,  pulling  away  over 
the  sparkling  water ;  I  like  to  see  the  rough,  red-faced 
omnibus  driver  making  change,  halting,  gesticula 
ting,  hallooing  to  passers-by,  all  in  the  same  breath. 
I  like  anything  that  is  wide-awake  and  efficient,  and 
if  it  be  beautiful  at  the  same  time,  so  much  the  bet 
ter.  I  like  to  see  the  cook  toss  eggs  into  a  foam  so 
nicely,  with  hear]  turned  the  other  way,  watching 
pots,  skillets,  and  frying-pans,  and  at  the  same  time 
giving  orders  to  half  a  dozen  subordinates.  I  like 
to  see  a  milliner  twist  a  ribbon  into  a  thousand  fan 
ciful  shapes  while  talking,  or  selecting  a  rose  from 
one  box,  a  green  spray  from  another,  then  a  spear 
of  wheat,  a  daisy  and  a  poppy,  twine  them  together 
with  an  artist's  taste  and  touch.  I  like  to  see  the 
dressmaker  fit  the  glossy  silk  to  the  curve  of  limbs 
as  soft  as  the  silky  fabric.  I  like  to  see  the  flushed 
pressman  sliding  the  damp  newspapers  from  the 
"form"  without  a  flaw  or  a  wrinkle.  I  like  to  see 
a  mother  strip  her  little,  tender  babe,  and  bathe  its 
fragile  limbs  with  that  wonderful  delicacy  of  touch 
which  mothers  only  know,  singing,  caressing,  patting, 
and  soothing,  till  the  lovely  task  is  done.  I  like  to 
see  those  little  imps  of  newsboys  running  indiscrimin 
ately  between  the  legs  of  man  and  beast,  yelling  out 


The  Poefry  of  Work.  131 

their  precocious  wisdom  about  "  accidents  and  arri 
vals  ;  "  dodging  under  carts,  and  coming  out  safe  in 
wind  and  limb ;  thriving,  in  spite  of  dirt  and  rags,  to 
turn  up  some  day,  ten  to  one,  in  a  big  marble  store 
up  town,  as  bookseller  or  publisher. 

I  am  not  at  all  sure,  now  that  blessed  chloroform 
is  discovered  by  which  my  faith  in  the  predicted 
millennium  has  had  a  most  vigorous  quickening 
(why  dortt  they  build  a  statue  to  the  discoverer?) 
that  I  could  not  look  on  admiringly  while  the  sur 
geon's  knife  wound  amid  veins  and  arteries  with 
almost  omnipotent  skill,  his  patient  lying  calm  as  a 
sleeping  infant  the  while. 

And  now  the  thought  comes  over  me  with  over 
whelming  force,  how  strange  that  we,  who  so  adore 
strength,  power,  beauty,  and  perfection,  should  be 
content  with  its  circumscribed  human  progress ; 
never  look  for  it,  never  worship  it,  where  it  is  limit 
less,  unchangeable,  unfettered  by  selfishness,  caprice, 
or  injustice.  Alas !  till  we  learn  this,  we  shall,  vine- 
like,  throw  out  our  tendrils  to  the  mercy  of  every 
passing  breeze,  with  nothing  sure  to  twine  around 
or  cling  to. 


CAJSPT  KEEP  A  HOTEL. 


MAE"  who  has  no  call  to  keep  a  hotel  had 
better  not  try  it,  unless  he  can  be  certain 
that  the  horizon  of  his  guests  has  always 
been  bounded  by  the  village  hay-scales.  Noble 
scenery  is  a  fine  thing  ;  but  mountain,  nor  lake,  nor 
river,  was  ever  enjoyable  in  company  with  an  empty 
stomach,  or  one  which  is  in  the  talons  of  the  fiend, 
indigestion.  To  come  to  one's  meal  with  loathing, 
and  eat  because  we  must,  or  starve,  and  then  hurry 
from  grease  and  saleratus  as  soon  as  possible,  is  not 
the  best  receipt  a  landlord  can  use  to  insure  a  good 
class  of  customers  for  another  season.  He  may 
think  it  of  no  consequence  that  his  garden,  if  lie 
have  one,  be  as  full  of  nettles  as  of  flowers ;  -that 
the  walks  have  more  pig-weed  than  gravel  in  them ; 
that  his  out-buildings  are  more  conspicuous  than  any 
other  object  both  to  the  eye  and  nose;  and  that  the 
grass-plats  about  the  house  are  strewn  with  perpet 
ual  rags,  paper,  and  old  boots,  which  a  fervid  August 
sun  is  not  generally  inclined  to  mitigate. 

lie  may  "  take  things  easy"  when  his  guests, hav 
ing  engaged  the  hotel-carriage  and  horses  for  a  ride 
are  still  standing  on  the  piazza  waiting  half  an  hour 
past  the  time  ;  and  when,  on  its  dilatory  appearance, 


Can't  Keep  a  Hotel.  133 

the  harness  is  found  giving  out  at  the  last  minute, 
having  been  patched  and  repatched  in  a  slovenly 
manner  on  uncounted  previous  rides ;  while  the 
golden  sunset,  on  which  his  guests  had  reckoned,  is 
spent  in  a  fruitless  search  for  that  hammer  and  those 
nails,  which  elude  all  pursuit.  He  may  think  it 
good  policy  to  keep  his  regular  boarders  waiting  for 
their  meals  an  hour  past  the  appointed  time,  while 
hungry  children  fret  for  sustenance,  because  new 
comers  will  then  appear,  and  this  stratagem  will 
save  the  trouble  of  preparing  two  meals.  lie  may 
do  all  that  if  he  will ;  but  he  must  remember  that 
every  disgusted  guest  who  leaves  his  establishment 
will  prevent  many  from  coining  to  it ;  and  that  with 
such  a  short-sighted  policy  he  will  soon  find  "  his 
occupation  gone." 

Keeping  a  hotel  is  a  gift,  as  much  as  poetry,  or 
sculpture,  or  painting.  I  might  name  men  whose 
hotels  have  attained  perfection  under  their  wise, 
cleanly,  and  systematic  ordering ;  but  perfect  as 
they  are,  I,  for  one,  am  not  employed  to  advertise 
them  over  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land  in  the 
New  York  Ledger.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  I  have 
slept  on  their  lovely  beds,  and  had  four  towels  a  day 
to  wash  my  hands  on.  That  I  had  a  roomy  ward 
robe  for  such  of  my  clothes  as  I  desired  to  set  free 
from  my  trunk.  That  the  looking  glass  was  not 
located  in  the  darkest  corner  of  the  room,  or  placed 
so  high  that  I  had  to  stand  on  tip-toe,  or  so  low  that 
I  had  to  get  on  my  knees  to  myself.  That  the  cof 
fee  was  not  made  of  split  peas.  That  the  fried  po- 


134  .  Can't  Keep  a  Hotel. 

tatoes  even  an  angel  like  me  might  eat.  That  the 
meats  were  cooked  in  a  Christian  manner,  and  the 
bread  guiltless  of  any  abominable  "  Sal " — anything. 
That  the  pastry,  which  I  never  touch,  looked  good 
for  those  who  like  it ;  and  that  the  ale — oh !  the  ale 
was  "  divine."  That  in  the  spots  where  cleanliness 
might  not  be  looked  for,  there  it  reigned.  That  no 
chambermaid  came  with  scraping  broom  against  my 
door,  at  daylight,  to  rouse  me  from  my  slumbers, 
and  shuffle  and  flirt  with  the  boot-and-shoe  collec 
tors  at  the  different  doors.  That  no  "  pictures  "  of 
ambitious  artists  upon  the  walls  gave  me  the  night 
mare.  And,  oh !  more — far  more  than  this,  that  the 
well-mannered  landlord  never  made  a  menagerie — 
show — of  any  "  lion,"  or  lioness,  in  his  house,  by 
labelling  the  same,  on  the  instant  of  their  appear 
ance,  in  dining-hall  or  parlor,  for  the  unwinking 
stare  of  the  curious. 

Of  course,  such  a  house  needs  money  as  well  as 
an  artist-master  to  carry  it  on.  Of  course,  guests 
who  register  their  names  there,  must  foot  the  cost  of 
all  this  outlay  on  their  bills. 

One  can  buy  a  bonnet  at  a  pawn-shop,  if  one  is 
satisfied  only  with  cheapness ;  but  the  dainty,  artis 
tic  lingers,  which  blend  colors  and  fabrics  with  the 
lightness  and  brightness  of  inspiration,  cannot  be 
expected  to  sell  so  much  talent  at  a  pawnbroker's 
price. 

Your  physician,  who  stays  in  your  house  only  five 
minutes,  charges  you,  perhaps,  fifteen  dollars.  You 
stare  wildly  at  the  amount ;  but  you  do  not  take  into 


Can't  Keep  a  Hotel.  135 

account  the  human  bodies  he  has  overhauled,  and 
the  libraries  and  lectures  he  has  mastered  to  arrive 
at  the  knowledge  which  he  has  concentrated  for 
your  benefit  in  that  brief  five  minutes.  In  homely 
phrase,  "  you  pays  your  money  and  you  takes  your 
choice."  Or,  "  he  is  a  good-natured  man,  but  he 
can't  keep  a  hotel,"  nor  will  people  stay  with  him 
long,  though  Paradise  lies  out-doors. 


WOMEN  LOVEKS. — Perhaps  you  don't  know  it,  but 
there  are  women  that  fall  in  love  with  each  other. 
Woe  be  to  the  unfortunate  she  who  does  the  court 
ing  !  All  the  cnssedness  of  ingenuity  peculiar  to 
the  sex  is  employed  by  "  the  other  party  "  in  tor 
menting  her.  She  will  flirt  with  women  by  the 
score  who  are  brighter  and  handsomer  than  her 
victim.  She  will  call  on  them  oftener.  She  will 
praise  their  best  bonnet,  and  go  into  ecstasies  over 
their  dresses.  She  will  write  them  more  pink  notes, 
and  wear  their  "  tin  types ;  "  and  when  despair  has 
culminated,  and  sore-hearted  Araminta  takes  to 
her  bed  in  consequence,  then  only  will  this  conquer 
ing  she,  step  off  her  pedestal  to  pick  up  her  dead 
and  wounded.  But  then  women  must  keep  their 
hand  in.  Practice  makes  perfect. 


NEW  CLOTHES. 

•  T  is  curious  with  what  different  eyes  human 
beings  look  upon  new  clothes,  at  different 
stages  of  existence.  Youth,  which  least 
needs  these  auxiliaries,  is  generally  the  most  clamor 
ous  for  incessant  change.  No  discomfort  in  the  way 
of  perpetual  guardianship  over  their  freshness ;  no 
uncomfortable  sense  of  their  weight  or  pressure  on 
the  limbs,  is  heeded,  so  that  the  craving  for  them  is 
satisfied.  Nor  is  there  any  sex  to  this  foible. 
Young  men  are  quite  as  apt  to  be  caught  tripping 
in  this  regard  as  their  sisters.  The  new  coat  may 
squeeze ;  the  new  collar  may  strangle ;  the  new 
boots  may  pinch ;  the  new  hat  may  leave  its  red 
mark  on  the  throbbing  forehead,  but  perish  the 
thought  of  not  wearing  either !  The  self-immola 
tion  which  is  undergone  in  this  way  finds  no  men 
tion  in  "  Fox's  Book  of  Martyrs ; "  but  its  silent, 
tearless,  uncomplaining  heroism  exists  none  the  less 
for  all  that.  From  the  days  when  our  foremothers 
had  their  heads  built  up  in  turrets  by  the  hurried 
hair-dresser,  the  night  previous  to  some  great  festive 
occasion,  and  sat  bolstered  upright  in  bed  all  night, 
for  fear  of  tumbling  them — down  to  the  present  day 
of  ladies'  "  hair-crimpers,"  human  nature  has  held 
its  own  in  this  respect. 


New  Glotlies.  137 

Middle  age,  with  few  exceptions,  looks  upon  new 
clothes  with  abated  interest.  Old  clothes,  like  old 
customs,  fit  easy.  Comfort,  anyhow,  says  middle 
age — appearances  as  the  gods  please ;  so  new  shoes 
lie  on  the  shelf  unworn  for  weeks,  for  fear  of  stiff 
heels  or  squeaky  soles ;  and  new  clothes  look  and 
feel  so  spick-and-span  and  glossy,  that  middle  age 
can  no  more  say  or  do  a  natural  thing  in  them,  than 
the  boy  could  spell  right  "  before  he  had  got  the 
hang  of  the  new  school-house ;  "  middle  age  resents 
this  petty,  fretting  intrusion  on  its  much-loved  quiet. 
It  is  irritable,  till  new  clothes  begin  to  feel  easy, 
which  is  not  generally  the  case  till  some  seam  grows 
threadbare,  or  some  treacherous  gap  horrifies  the 
easy  wearer  with  renewed  visions  of  innovating 
fashions  and  fabrics. 

Now  this  is  very  natural  and  very  well,  too,  to  a 
certain  extent ;  but  middle  age  sometimes  forgets 
that  something  is  due  to  affectionate  young  eyes, 
which  take  a  proper  pride  in  seeing  "  father "  or 
"  mother  "  neatly  and  becomingly  dressed,  accord 
ing  to  their  age  and  station  in  life.  Roses  and 
snow,  of  course,  nobody  looks  for;  but  the  trim 
evergreen  shows  well,  even  beside  a  snow-bank ; 
and  nature  herself  hangs  glistening  pendants  of 
icicles  from  the  glossy  leaves  of  the  ivy. 

It  is  a  harrowing  reflection  how  much  money  is 
"sunk"  every  day  in  new  clothes,  in  which  the 
blissfully  unconscious  wearers  look  none  the  better, 
but  rather  the  worse.  Still,  if  everybody  had  good 
taste  in  this  matter,  there  would  be  no  foil  to  the 


138  New  Clothes. 

well-dressed ;  and  I  am  afraid  the  heartless  dry- 
goods  merchants  care  little  whether  blondes  dress 
in  orange  color,  or  brunettes  in  sky-blue,  so  that 
their  bills  are  paid. 

But  new  clothes  for  the  "  baby."  Ah !  that  is 
something  worth  while.  I  ask  you,  did  love  ever 
find  fabric  soft  enough,  or  nice  enough,  or  pretty 
enough,  for  "  the  hciby"  f  Fathers  and  mothers 
may  make  as  virtuously  economical  resolutions  as 
they  please ;  but  why,  if  they  mean  to  carry  them 
out,  do  they  linger  at  the  shop-window  where  that 
dainty  little  satin  bonnet  stares  them  innocently  in 
the  face,  with  that  pert  little  rosette,  cocked  upon 
one  side,  that  "  would  look  so  cunning  on  baby." 
Why  do  they  contemplate  the  rows  of  bright  little 
red-prunella  boots,  or  the  embroidered  little  sacques 
and  frocks  ?  Why  don't  they  cross  right  over  and 
travel  home  out  of  the  way  of  temptation  ?  Surely, 
no  pink  could  rival  the  rose  of  baby's  cheek;  no 
crimson  the  coral  of  its  lips  ;  no  blue  the  sapphire 
of  its  eyes.  For  all  that,  out  comes  the  purse  and 
home  goes  the  bonnet,  or  cloak,  or  frock.  Just  as 
if  shopkeepers  didn't  know  that  babies  will  keep  on 
being  born,  and  born  pretty ;  and  that  fathers  and 
mothers  are,  and  will  be,  their  happy  slaves  all  the 
world  over  to  the  end  of  time ! 


HOW  I  READ  THE  HORNING 
PAPERS. 

there  is  a  time  when  I  sigh  for  the  "  Cave 
of  Adullam,"  whatever  that  may  be,  it  is 
when,  my  coffee  swallowed,  my  fingers 
clutch  my  precious,  morning  papers,  for  a  blessed, 
quiet  read. 

I  just  begin  an  editorial,  which  requires  a  little 
thinking,  when  up  comes  Biddy  with  "Ma'am, 
there's  a  hole  in  the  liler."  The  "  biler  "  settled,  I 
go  back  to  the  place  indicated  by  my  forefinger, 
where  the  Editor  was  saying  "that  Congress — r 
when  somebody  upsets  the  coffee-pot  in  an  attempt 
to  burlesque  last  night's  public  performance.  The 
coffee-pot  set  right  end  up,  and  the  coffee  pond 
drained  off  the  table-cloth,  I  return  again  to  my 
beloved  editorial ; — when  Biddy  again  appears  with 
"Ma'am,  the  man  has  come  to  mend  the  door 
handle  as  is  broke."  That  nuisance  disposed  of,  I 
take  my  paper  and  retreat  in  self-defence  to  the  top 
of  the  house,  and  commence  to  read  again,  "that 
Congress — "  when  I  am  interrupted  with  loud 
shouts  of  "Where's  mother?  Mother?  where  are 
you?"  I  disdain  to  answer.  "Mother?"  In  de 
spair,  I  cry,  in  tragic  tones,  "  Well,  what  is  it  ? " 
"A  poor  soldier  is  at  the  door  with  pictures  at 


140     How  I  Head  tlie  Morning  Papers. 

thirty  cents  apiece,  and  he  has  but  one  arm."  "  Well, 
I  have  but  one  life — but  for  mercy's  sake  take  his 
pictures,  and  don't  let  in  anything  else,  man,  woman, 
or  child,  till  I  read  my  paper  through."  I  begin 
again  :  "  If  Congress — "  when  Biddy,  who  is  mak 
ing  the  bed  in  the  next  room,  begins  howling 
"  Swate  Ireland  is  the  land  for  me."  I  get  up  and 
very  mildly  request — in  view  of  a  possible  visit  to 
an  Intelligence  Office — that  she  will  oblige  me  by 
deferring  her  concert  till  I  get  through  my  morning 
paper.  Then  I  begin  again :  "  If  Congress — "  when 
up  comes  paterfamilias  to  know  if  it  is  to  be  beef, 
or  chicken,  or  veal,  that  he  is  to  order  at  market  for 
that  day's  dinner.  "  Possum,  if  you  like,"  I  mutter, 
with  both  fingers  on  my  ears,  as  I  commence  again, 
"  If  Congress —  Paterfamilias  laughs  and  retreats, 
exclaiming,  "  Shadrachs !  vot  a  womansh ! "  and  I 
finish  "  Congress,"  and  begin  on  the  book  reviews. 
A  knock  on  the  door.  "  Six  letters,  ma'am."  I 
open  them.  Three  for  an  "  autograph,"  with  the 
privilege  of  finding  my  own  envelope  and  stamp, 
and  mailing  it  afterward.  One  with  a  request  for 
me  to  furnish  a  speedy  "  composition "  to  save  a 
school-boy  at  a  dead-lock  of  ideas  from  impending 
suicide.  One  from  a  man  who  has  made  a  new 
kind  of  polish  for  the  legs  of  tables  and  chairs,  and 
wants  me  to  write  an  article  about  it  in  the  Ledger, 
and  send  him  an  early  copy  of  the  same.  One  from 
a  girl  "  who  never  in  her  life  owned  a  dress  bon 
net,"  and  would  like,  with  my  assistance,  to  experi 
ence  that  refreshing  and  novel  sensation. 


How  I  Read  the  Morning  Papers.     141 

I  begin  again  my  postponed  list  of  "  book  re 
views  ; "  when  in  comes  paterfamilias  to  know  "  if 
I  haven't  yet  done  with  that  paper."  That's  the 
last  ounce  on  the  camel's  back!  Mind  you,  lie  has 
just  read  his  morning-  paper  through,  and  it  con 
tains  a  different  stripe  of  politics  from  mine,  I  can 
tell  you  that,  .Read  it  in  peace,  too — with  his  legs  on 
the  mantel,  smoking  his  beloved  pipe.  Head  it  up 
and  down;  backwards  and  forwards;  inside  out, 
and  upside  down  ;  and  disembowelled  every  shade 
of  meaning  from  live  and  dead  subjects ;  and  then 
coolly  inquires  of  me — me,  with  my  hair  on  end  in 
the  vain  effort  to  retain  any  ideas  through  all  these 
interruptions — "  if  I  haven't  yet  done  with  that 
paper?"  Oh,  it's  too  much!  I  sit  down  opposite 
him.  I  explain  how  I  never  get  a  chance  to  finish  . 
anything  except  himself.  I  tell  him  my  life  is  all 
fragments.  I  ask  him,  with  moist  eyes,  if  he  knows 
how  the  price  of  board  ranges  at  the  different 
Lunatic  Asylums.  What  is  his  unfeeling  answer? 
"  Hadn't  I  better  take  some  other  hour  in  the  day 
to  read  the  papers  ? " 

Isn't  that  just  like  a  man? 

Has  not  bother  and  worry  "  all  seasons  for  its 
own,"  as  far  as  women  are  concerned  ?  "Would  it 
make  any  difference  what  "  hour  in  the  day  "  I  took 
to  read  the  papers?  Can  women  ever  have  any 
system  about  anything,  while  a  Biddy  or  a  male 
creature  exists  on  the  face  of  the  earth  to  tangle  up 
things?  Have  I  not  all  my  life  been  striving  and 
struggling  for  that  "order"  which  my  copy-book 


142     How  I  Head  the  Mornincj  Papers. 

told  rne  in  my  youth  "was  Heaven's  first  law"? 
And  is  it  my  fault  if  "  chaos,"  which  I  hate,  is  my 
"  unwilling  portion"  ? 

I  just  propounded  to  paterfamilias  these  vital 
questions.  With  eyes  far  off  on  distant,  and  un 
tried,  and  possible  fields  of  literature,  he  absently 
replies:  "Well,  as  you  say,  Fanny,  I  shouldn't  won 
der  if  it  does  rain  to-day."  Great  heavens ! 


i 

SMOKING  BABIES. — It  would  not  be  amiss  to  call 
the  attention  of  parents  and  school-teachers  to  the 
fact  that  every  morning,  lads  from  seven  years  old 
to  twelve  may  be  seen,  satchel  in  hand,  smoking  on 
their  way  to  school.  Surely,  between  the  parents 
and  the  teachers,  some  remedy  should  immediately 
be  devised  to  prevent  this  enormous  tax  upon  the 
vitality  of  youth.  A  great  deal  has  very  properly 
been  written  and  spoken  upon  the  mismanagement 
of  young  girls  who  have  not  yet  reached  their  teens. 
Why  not  extend  this  philanthropic  solicitude  to  their 
brothers  ?  Is  it  because  smoking  fathers,  being 
themselves  slaves  to  this  vile  habit,  have  not  the 
face  to  ask  their  sons  to  practise  a  self-denial,  of 
which  their  own  manhood  is  incapable  ? 


BETTTS  SOLILOQUY. 

AKD  to  live  out  ?  "Well,  that's  just  as  you 
choose  to  take  it.  Some  folks  have  no  fac- 

*  ulty  at  getting  along  in  this  world.  My 
name  is  Easy,  and  my  nature  is  ditto.  When  I  go 
to  a  place  I  always  say  "  yes  "  to  everything  they 
ask  me.  I  never  make  an  objection  to  doing  any 
thing  ;  of  course,  my  mistress  likes  that ;  as  to  really 
doing  all  I  promise  to  do,  leave  me  alone  to  manage 
that,  with,  as  innocent  a  face  as  the  baby  I  take  care 
of.  Now,  for  instance,  suppose  she  sends  me  up  into 
the  nursery  to  get  the  child  asleep.  It  is  tiresome 
work  ;  there's  a  great  deal  of  coaxing,  and  twisting, 
and  wriggling,  and  rocking,  and  singing  to  be  clone, 
before  that  can  be  brought  about ;  and  it  tires  me, 
and  I  don't  like  it.  But  of  course  I  reply,  "  Cer 
tainly,  ma'am,"  when  she  bids  me,  and  I  take  the 
child  upstairs.  Then  I  sit  down  with  it ;  and  just 
hold  it  in  some  uncomfortable  position  so  that  it 
will  cry  loud  enough  to  fret  its  mamma.  Then  she 
bears  it  awhile,  thinking  baby  will  stop  by  and  by  ; 
but  baby  somehow  dortt  stop.  Then  she  comes  up 
and  says  to  me,  "  Betty  what  do  you  think  can  ail 
baby  ! "  And  I  kiss  it  and  hold  it  up  to  my  face, 
and  say,  "  Poor  little  dear,  I  am  afraid  it  has  a  bad 
stomach  ache  ;  it  won't  be  easy — anyhow  I  try  ; " 


144  Hetty's  Soliloquy. 

and  then  she  says,  "  Well,  I'll  take  it  awhile,  Betty, 
and  see  if  I  can't  soothe  it  asleep  ;  "  and  I  say,  "  Oh 
no,  ma'am,  it  is  a  pity  you  should  tire  yourself  with 
the  child ;  "  and  she  seeing  me  so  willing,  just  takes 
it — don  t  you  see  ?  TJiatfs  the  way  to  do.  There's 
no  use  infighting  one's  way  through  the  world,  when 
a  little  cunning  answers  just  as  well.  Well,  then 
my  mistress  likes  baby  to  go  out  of  doors  a  great 
deal.  Now,  as  a  general  thing,  I  never  engage  to 
live  with  a  lady  who  don't  keep  her  own  carriage, 
on  that  account.  It's  very  nice  to  be  sent  out  in  a 
carriage  with  the  baby,  for  an  airing,  with  John,  the 
coachman,  particularly  when  John  is  agreeable, 
which  is  sometimes  the  case.  It  makes  a  body  feel 
like  somebody  to  say,  "  John,  you  may  drive  here, 
or,  John,  you  may  drive  there."  But  of  course  one 
cannot  always  get  a  place  to  one's  mind  ;  and  so 
when  my  mistress  uses  her  feet  instead  of  a  car 
riage,  she  needn't  think  that  I  shall  do  it  any  more 
than  I  can  possibly  help.  So  when  she  tells  me  to 
take  baby  out,  I  say,  "  Yes' em,"  as  I  always  do,  re 
spectfully,  I  hope — and  out  I  go,  and  make  for  the 
first  kitchen  where  I  have  a  pleasant  acquaintance, 
and  baby  can  wait  till  we  get  through  our  gossip, 
which  is  not  very  soon.  Of  course,  1  never  take  a 
little  tell-tale  of  an  older  child  with  me  on  such  oc 
casions.  I  tell  mistress  I'm  so  afraid  of  its  getting 
run  over,  or  something,  while  I'm  minding  baby. 
Then  as  to  my  "  privileges,"  I  hope  I  know  enough 
to  have  one  of  my  friends  sick  or  dead  if  I  want  an 
evening  out.  There  can't  anything  be  said  against 


Betty 's  Soliloquy.  145 

that,  you  know,  if  one  is  only  judicious  enough  not 
to  have  it  happen  too  often.  Sometimes  I  come 
across  a  mistress  who  is  too  keen  for  me.  Now  I 
never  like  to  live  writh  a  lady  who  has  gray  eyes  ; 
in  that  case  we  have  a  mutual  inclination  to  part,  of 
course  ;  but  as  a  general  thing,  I  find  my  way  of 
managing  "fust-rate"  because  I  give  no  "impu 
dence,"  you  see,  which  is  what  most  ladies  are  so 
touchy  about.  As  to  "  conscience,"  humph  !  where 
are  their  "  consciences,"  I'd  like  to  know  ?  It  is  a 
poor  rule  that  won't  work  both  ways.  I  should  be 
worn  to  a  skeleton  if  I  kept  a  conscience. 


BRIDAL  PRESENTS. — If  brides  could  only  hear  the 
conversations  that  are  held  over  the  "  bridal  pres 
ents  "  by  the  givers !  Their  weary  yawns  while 
pondering  how  much  must  be  expended,  and  how 
little  may  /  and  wishing  heartily  the  whole  system 
were  exploded,  in  favor  of  their  pockets.  If  brides 
could  hear  this,  they  would  quietly  and  with  dignity 
announce,  "  No  presents  received,"  even  without 
any  reservations  as  to  relationship.  It  is  of  no  use 
talking  of  the  "  good  old  days,"  we  suppose ;  as 
well  might  one  ask  a  confirmed  epicure  to  adjure 
his  Cayenne,  and  highly  spiced  diet  for  plain,  whole 
some,  nutritious  food ;  so,  with  a  passing  sigh  for 
the  days  when  sentiment,  modesty,  and  economy  had 
not  yet  gone  out  of  fashion,  we  give  it  up. 
10 


MY  DREADFUL  BUMP   OF  ORDER. 


HAVE  just  been  reading  a  "  sweet"  article, 
headed  "  Coming  Home  After  the  Summer 
Vacation  ,"  in  which  the  writer  looks 
through  his  "  glory  spectacles"  upon  the  delights  of 
plenty  of  elbow-room  in  the  dear  old  house  ;  good 
fare,  and  one's  little  personal  hourly  comforts  gen 
erally.  All  very  well.  But  what  of  the  carpets  to 
be  shaken  and  steamed,  or  the  new  ones  to  be 
made?  What  of  the  painting  and  whitewashing, 
and  cleaning  out  of  cellars  and  closets  ?  What  of 
the  new  kitchen-range,  and  the  new  oilcloth  for  the 
floor  ?  What  of  the  plumbing  and  roof  painting  ? 
What  of  the  winter's  coal  to  get  in,  which  pater 
familias  always  "  forgets  "  to  order  till  the  fall 
house-cleaning  is  done?  What  of  upholsterers  and 
painters  and  plumbers,  who  begin  a  job,  and  finish 
it  whenever  the  gods  will  ?  "What  of  crisp,  sunny, 
lovely  autumn  mornings  spent  in  the  delightful 
atmosphere  of  an  "  Intelligence  Office  "  six  feet  by 
eight,  while  answering  the  following  questions  : 
ff  Any  children  in  the  family  ?  Have  you  an  Eng 
lish  basernent  ?  Have  you  a  servant's  parlor  ?  Do 
you  put  out  your  washing  ?  Does  your  cook  wash 
the  dishes  ?  Do  you  use  such  and  such  a  kitchen- 


My  Dreadful  Bump  of  Order.      147 

range  \  "  All  of  which  questions,  answered  in  the 
affirmative,  giving  you  the  inestimable  boon  of  a 
poor  cook,  at  sixteen,  eighteen,  or  twenty  dollars  a 
month,  with  liberty  to  have  her  "  cousins  "  visit  her 
at  will.  After  that  comes  your  waitress,  and  if  you 
want  to  preserve  your  senses  you  had  better  end 
there,  without  encumbering  yourself  with  more 
«  help." 

There    is    nothing   said   about    all   this    in  the 

O 

"  sweet "  article  alluded  to,  called  "  Coming  Home 
After  the  Summer  Vacation."  I  didn't  see  any 
thing  in  it  either  about  the  children's  dilapidated 
wardrobe,  to  be  then  replenished,  with  dress-makers 
knee-deep  in  engagements,  and  "  Furnishing  Stores 
for  Children's  Outfits,"  containing  only  lace  and 
ruffles,  to  wear  to  school.  As  to  your  own  ward 
robe,  if  you  are  possessed  of  a  black  silk,  or  alpaca, 
or  Cashmere  walking-suit,  blessed  are  you  among 
women — for  then  you  at  least  are  always  presenta 
ble  in  public. 

Well,  after  all  this,  there  is  a  chance  that  the  new 
cook,  not  admiring  the  new  waitress,  whom  you 
happen  to  like,  may  conclude  to  quarrel  her  off,  in 
order  to  fill  the  vacancy  with  a  raw  "  cousin  "  just 
from  shipboard  :  and  directly,  when  you  think  the 
family  machine  is  at  last  oiled,  and  in  motion  for 
the  winter,  and  you  are  taking  breath  upon  that 
idea,  in  comes  the  irate  waitress,  and  you  are  "  to 
choose,  ma'am,  if  you  please,  between  me  and  the 
cook,  for  indeed  the  house  will  not  hold  both  of  us," 
and  so  on,  and  so  forth. 


148      My  Dreadful  Bump  of  Order. 

Here  most  lady  housekeepers  come  to  the  end  of 
their  calamities.  But  suppose  you  help  to  earn  the 
family  bread  and  butter  as  a  writer  ?  Then  may 
the  gods  send  you  patience,  or  a  new  set  of  nerves 
and  muscles  and  brains!  May  the  gods  preserve 
you  from  reading  yourself  the  crudities  you  give  to 
the  public  for  base  lucre !  May  -the  gods  sustain 
you  under  the  torturing  reflection,  how  much  better 
literary  work  you  know  yourself  to  be  capable  of, 
had  you  only  a  fair  chance  at  your  freshest  moments, 
and  could  you  inaugurate  that  "  system  "  in  your 
household  to  which  Intelligence  Offices  are  an 
insurmountable  obstacle ;  which  you,  New  England 
born  and  bred,  adore  and  understand,  but  yet  can 
never  bring  about  with  any  "  increase  of  wages,"  or 
even  personal  supervision  ;  not,  at  least,  while  the 
demand  for  household  servants  is  always  greater 
than  the  supply,  and  they  can  make  their  own  terms, 
and  exhaust  your  vitality  much  faster  than  they  can 
their  own  vocabulary  of  abuse. 

Knowing  thoroughly  this  side  of  "  Coming 
Home  After  the  Summer  Vacation,"  I  perused  the 
article  with  this- heading,  with  the  corners  of  my 
mouth  slightly  drawn  down,  and  the  end  of  my  nose 
slightly  turned  up.  And  if  any  lady  remarks,  in 
reply,  that  she  "  admires  housekeeping  in  all  its  de 
tails,"  I  can  only  say,  that  I  have  observed  that 
slack  housekeepers  generally  dp,  as  their  topsy 
turvy  cupboards  bear  witness.  And  I  also  unhesita 
tingly  affirm  that  no  thorough  housekeeper,  in  the 
present  day  of  incompetent,  careless  servants,  who 


My  Dread/ nl  Bump  of  Order.      149 

desires  time  for  anything  else  save  the  hourly  needs 
of  the  body,  can  conscientiously  make  such  asser 
tion  ;  although,  as  wife  and  mistress,  she  may  not 
at  the  same  time  refuse  to  meet  the  consequent 
exhaustive  demands  upon  her  vitality ;  that  is,  so 
long  as  she  can  possibly  bear  the  strain. 

It  is  a  trying  thing  to  have  the  bump  of  order  too 
fully  developed.  Now  I  have  trotted  across  this  room 
twenty  times  to  pick  up  little  bits  of  thread  and  shin 
ing  pins,  that  offended  my  eye,  upon  this  floor.  I 
positively  couldn't  write  till  I  had  done  it.  Then 
that  vase  was  placed  a  little  awry  when  the  room 
was  dusted,  and  I  had  to  get  up  and  settle  its  lati 
tude  and  longitude.  The  hearth,  too,  had  some 
ashes  upon  it,  and  there  was  a  shawl  on  the  sofa  that 
should  have  been  in  the  closet.  Then  there  was  an 
ink-spot  on  my  thumb  that  had  to  be  removed,  and 
my  desk  had  a  speck  or  two  of  dust  on  the  corner. 
All  these  things  bothered  me  ;  and  then  I  fell  think 
ing  whether  it  were  not,  after  all,  better  not  to  have 
quite  so  sharp  an  eye  for  these  things ;  that  per 
haps  editors  were  right  who  had  their  office  windows 
so  thickly  crusted  with  dirt  that  they  could  not  tell 
whether  it  were  a  rainy  or  a  sunshiny  day  from  in 
door  observation.  That  perhaps  they  were  right  in 
heaping  breast-high  upon  their  office  desks  papers, 
books,  MSS.,  letters,  pencils,  pens,  gloves,  hats,  and 
cigar-stumps,  varied  with  engravings  and  dirty 
pocket-handkerchiefs,  Perhaps  they  were  right  in 
never  sweeping  their  floors,  and  leaving  it  to  their 
visitors  to  dust  their  chairs  with  their  clothes. 


150      My  Dreadful  Bump  of  Order. 

Really  it  is  quite  a  question  with  me  this  morning, 
whether  the  bump  of  order  is  not  a  nuisance,  even 
to  a  woman.  Now  at  any  chance  table  where  I  may 
lunch,  I  have  regularly  to  re-locate  the  cups,  saucers, 
and  dishes,  before  I  begin,  placing  them  where  their 
geographical  relation  will  be  most  harmonious.  If 
the  folds  in  the  table-cloth  run  the  wrong  way,  I  as 
sure  you  I  am  quite  miserable  ;  and  a  missing  stop 
per  to  the  vinegar  cruet  drives  me  to  despair.  Then 
I  endeavor  so  to  regulate  my  bureau  drawers  and 
closets  that  a  visit  to  them  in  the  darkest  night,  with 
out  a  light,  for  any  article,  would  be  eminently  suc 
cessful.  Till,  "  Now,  who  has  been  here"  has  come 
to  be  a  miserable  joke  against  me,  by  the  happy 
creatures  who  cannot  comprehend,  that  to  misplace 
iny  gloves,  or  handkerchiefs,  or  ribbons,  or  veil,  is 
to  cause  my  too  susceptible  heart  an  exquisite  an 
guish,  beside  wasting  my  precious  time  in  fruitless 
hunts  for  the  same. 

Then  I  may  be  very  tired  when  I  return  at  twelve 
o'clock  at  night  from  some  visit  or  place  of  amuse 
ment  ;  but  no  amount  of  reasoning  could  avail  to 
get  me  to  bed  till  my  bonnet,  cloak,  and  dress  were 
put  away  in  their  appropriate  places.  I  am  sorry  to 
confess  that  unless  I  did  this,  visions  of  Betty  and  a 
broom  in  possible  connection  with  them,  the  next 
morning,  would  quite  interfere  with  my  slumbers. 
You  may  laugh  at  all  this ;  but  'tis  I  who  would 
laugh  at  you  in  the  morning,  when  you  are  spend 
ing  the  best  hours  of  the  day  in  flying  distractedly 
round  for  some  missing  article  which  you  cannot 


My  Dreadful  Bump  of  Order.      151 

do  without,  and  which,  of  course,  nobody  has  seen. 
If  "Order  is  Heaven's  first  law,"  as  my  school 
copy-book  used  to  assert,  my  initiatory  carefulness 
here  below  may  not  be,  after  all,  without  its  value. 
Still,  I  do  not  forget  that  there  was  once  a  Martha 
who  was  rebuked  for  "  being  careful  and  troubled 
about  many  things." 

But  stay  a  bit :  can  you  tell  me  wJiy^  when  one's 
room  is  what  they  call  "  put  to  rights,"  the  table 
which  has  a  drawer  in  it  should  always  be  so  left 
by  Bridget  that  the  drawer  side  faces  the  wall  ?  Or 
why,  when  a  basin  of  water  is  in  use,  to  cleanse 
spots  from  paint,  it  should  always  be  placed  near  the 
door,  that  the  first  comer  may  enjoy  an  impromptu 
foot-bath  ?  Why,  in  moving  a  vase,  or  any  other 
fragile  article,  it  is  always  so  located,  that  breakage 
is  inevitable  ?  Why  should  dust-pans  be  left  in  dark 
entries,  or  stairways,  to  the  sudden  precipitation  of 
some  unsuspecting  victim?  Why,  when  a  broom  is 
off  duty,  should  it  be  "  stood  up  "  where  the  handle 
is  sure  to  make  thumping  acquaintance  with  one's 
nose  ?  Why  should  soiled  towels  be  abstracted,  be 
fore  replacing  them  with  fresh  ones,  and  you  left  to 
make  the  harrowing  discovery  with  dripping  finger- 
ends  ?  Oh !  tell  me  why  need  your  bonnet  be  put 
in  the  coal-scuttle,  and  your  muddy  gaiter-boots  in 
the  bandbox  ?  Why  should  your  "  honey-soap  "  be 
used  to  wash  the  hearth  ?  Why,  when  you  beseech 
that  blankets,  and  sheets,  and  coverlets,  should  be 
tucked  harmoniously  in  at  the  bottom  of  the  bed, 
should  your  toes  make  unwilling  acquaintance,  every 


152      My  Dreadful  Bump  of  Order. 

night,  with  the  cold  foot-board  ?  Why,  when  you 
request  that  a  door  should  be  kept  shut,  is  it  always 
left  wide  open  ?  and  why,  when  you  are  in  a  gasp 
ing  condition,  should  it  be  carefully  closed,  spite  of 
repeated  remonstrance  ? 

Gentle  Shepherd,  tell  me,  are  pigs  and  Bridgets 
the  only  creatures  whom  heaven  and  earth  can't  stop 
from  going  east,  if  you  desire  them  to  go  west? 
And  the  Shepherd  answers — Man. 


MOTHERS  OF  MANY  CHILDREN. — "  Ponder  every 
subject  with  careful  attention,  if  you  wish  to  acquire 
knowledge."  What  is  then  to  be  the  mental  status 
of  that  mother  who  has  a  perpetual  baby  in  her 
arms,  and  only  time  to  "ponder"  that  baby,  so 
weary  is  her  body  with  its  "  ponder  "-osity  ?  Where 
is  the  Solomon  to  answer  this  question  ?  Baby 
knowledge  she  may  indeed  have ;  but  the  baby  will 
grow  up  by  and  by,  and  how  is  she  to  acquire 
"  knowledge "  under  such  circumstances,  and  be  a 

O  ' 

fit  intellectual  companion  for  it  then?  That's 
what  some  people  want  to  know,  when  little 
brothers  and  sisters  tread  so  fast  on  each  other's 
heels,  that  the  mother  has  scarcely  breathing  time 
between. 


"EVERY     FAMILY    SHOULD     HAVE 
IT." 

actually  gasps  for  breath  in  crowded, 
closetless  New  York  to  read  this  frequent 
newspaper  announcement,  "Every  family 
should  have  it."  Modern  times  having  abolished 
the  "  garret  of  our  forefathers  with  its  all-embracing 
omnium-gatherum  eaves,"  the  prospect  of  dire  con 
fusion  is  terrible  if  "  every  family  "  does  not  turn  a 
deaf  ear  to  these  disinterested  caterers  for  their 
benefit.  Alas !  for  that  old  blessed  garret,  the 
standing  curiosity  shop  for  the  youngsters  of  a  rainy 
or  a  holiday  afternoon  ;  that  mausoleum  of  "notions" 
cast  aside  by  our  venerated  ancestors,  who  undoubt 
edly  had  their  little  follies  like  their  descendants. 
Old  boxes,  old  tins,  old  baskets,  old  hats,  old  bon 
nets,  old  school-books,  old  bottles,  did  not  then,  as 
now,  marshal  themselves  on  the  sidewalks,  in  com 
pany  with  coal  cinders,  to  the  disgust  of  every 
pedestrian,  waiting  the  snail-like  operations  of  the 
dirt-man,  who  is  off  duty  six  days  out  of  the  seven, 
and  spills  half  he  carries  away  at  that,  besides 
knocking  tlje  bottom  out  of  every  barrel  when, 
having  essayed  to  disembowel  it,  he  jerks  it  off  one 
wheel  of  his  cart  to  the  sidewalk.  One  needs  to  go 
to  Boston  or  to  Philadelphia  occasionally  to  air 


154    "Every  Family  Should  Have  It" 

one's  nostrils  and  temper  after  it.  After  this,  to 
talk  of  more  things,  each  day,  that  "  every  family 
must  have,"  is  enough  to  drive  one  to  a  druggist's 
for  speedy  oblivion.  What  a  blessing  to  these  pub 
lic  and  disinterested  philanthropists,  of  "every 
family,"  are  gullible  housekeepers  and  matrons 
who,  though  cheated  and  bamboozled  seventy  times 
seven,  are  still  on  hand  for  the  latest  sham — "  im 
provement."  Credulous  souls  !  How  do  their  hus 
bands  count  over  to  them  on  warning  marital 
lingers  the  dismal  amount  thus  uselessly  expended  ! 
Not  that  they  themselves  do  not,  and  have  not,  erred 
in  the  same  way ;  but  who  is  going  to  have  the 
superhuman  courage  to  tell  these  sinless  beings  so  ? 
But  after  all,  far  be  it  from  me  to  say  that  there  are 
not  many  things  that  "  every  family  must  have  ;  " 
and  one  of  these  is  a  baby.  Not  that  they  too  are 
not  occasionally  dumped  unceremoniously  and 
heartlessly  on  the  sidewalk ;  but  that  don't  alter  the 
fact,  that  a  house  without  a  baby  is  no  house  at  all. 
Another  thing  that  "  every  family  must  have,"  is  a 
Doctor;  also  a  Minister.  Who  ever  heard  of  a 
woman  without  these  two  confidential  friends — what 
would  become  of  her  if  she  couldn't  make  a  good 
cup  of  tea  for  the  latter,  and  tell  the  other  her  real 
and  imaginary  aches  ?  And  if  she  knows  anything, 
can't  she  always  choose  her  own  sanitary  prescrip 
tions,  all  the  same  as  if  there  were  no  diploma  in 
her  Doctor's  pocket  ? 

I  will  not  stop  to  inquire  whether  this  advertise 
ment-heading  is  a  disinterested  one,  or  whether  they 


"  Every  Family  Should  Have  1C    155 

who  deal  in  such  things  are  conversant  with  the  re 
spective  sizes  of  our  houses,  or  families,  or  both  ;  or 
whether  new  complications  of  pots  and  pans,  and 
tea-kettles,  and  gridirons,  and  egg-beaters,  and 
clothes-wringers,  and  the  like,  Avill  only  wring  to 
utter  extinction  the  already  muddled  heads  of  our 
unscientific  "  help "  and  the  depleted  purses  of 
housekeepers,  consequent  upon  their  unthrif  t.  We 
only  wish  to  remind  these  disinterested  shopkeepers, 
who  would  fain  take  in  verdant  housekeepers,  that 
houses  nowadays  are  mainly  constructed  without 
garrets,  without  cellars,  without  closets,  without  any 
lumber  place  whatsoever,  where  the  wrecks  of  these 
articles  "  that  -no  family  can  do  without,"  can  be 
ultimately  stranded.  Their  wares  are,  to  be  honest, 
often  tempting  enough  to  look  at ;  beautiful  in  their 
shining  freshness,  and  deliciously  suggestive  of  good 
roasts  and  stews  and  broils — awfully  suggestive  of 
the  latter ! — but  "  terrible  as  an  army  with  banners," 
when  contemplating  "  Intelligence  offices  "  ;  though 
why  " intelligence"  when  anything  but  that  is  to  be 
had  there,  I  have  heretofore  failed  to  see. 

Another  question  I  would  ask  these  disinterested 
persons  who  have  so  many  "  articles  no  family  can 
do  without : "  Did  they  ever  hear  of  the  First  of 
May  f  Have  they  a  realizing  sense  of  what  it  is  to 
"  move "  ?  "Will  they  tell  us,  when  moving  carts 
are  already  bursting  with  "the  things  no  family 
can  do  without,"  and  the  sidewalk  refuses  to  receive 
the  remainder,  and  the  new  tenant  won't  have  them 
at  any  price,  and  you  are  wild  with  despair  that  it 


156    "Every  Family  Should  Have  It." 

is  impossible  for  you  to  be  divorced  from  them — 
will  they  tell  us,  at  that  halcyon  moment,  if  they 
really  contemplated,  in  the  affluence  of  their  desires 
to  furnish  our  houses,  that  they  might  be  the  means 
of  sending  us  to  a  lunatic  asylum  ? 

Beggars  are  useful  at  such  times,  if  they  only 
wouldn't  sort  out  the  horrid  heap  of  broken  and 
disabled  things  that  "  the  family  can  "  now  do  very 
well  "  without,"  directly  in  the  path  of  the  moving 
carts,  and  before  your  afflicted  eyes,  that  are  quite 
ready  to  close  on  all  things  here  below,  so  intense*  is 
your  disgust  of  them. 

The  words  "  do  without "  convey  to  me  a  very 
different  meaning  now  than  of  yore.  A  new  dump 
ing-ground  must  be  invented  in  New  York  before 
/patronize  any  more  inventions.  I'm  for  condens 
ing  instead  of  expanding  things,  till  our  city  masters 
find  time  to  attend  to  that.  Nobody  need  ring  my 
door-bell  witli  "  patent "  anything,  while  it  is  so 
patent  that  there  is  no  vacant  space  in  Manhattan 
for  anything  new  under  the  sun.  My  nature  is  not 
conservative  ;  but  one  can't  be  pushed  into  the  East 
river,  when  it  is  so  full  of  the  "  things  that  no  fam 
ily  can  do  without,"  that  there  is  not  room  enough 
left  there  even  to  sink. 


GETTING  TO  EIGHTS. 

[HEBE  !  I  breathe  again  !  The  household  is 
at  last  wound  up — carpets  down,  house- 
cleaning  accomplished  ;  all  the  "  pretties  " 
located  in  the  most  effective  places ;  my  flowers  and 
ivies  luxuriant ;  my  desk  newly  fitted  up ;  every 
thing  thriving  save  myself;  but  that's  no  conse 
quence,  I  suppose.  My  play-day  is  over,  and  now  I 
must  buckle  down  to  realities.  Still  one's  home  is 
lovely  after  the  jar  of  the  creaking  machinery  used 
in  getting  it  in  order  has  ceased.  Your  own  chair, 
just  fitted  to  your  weary  back  ;  your  own  convenient 
dressing-room  and  glass,  with  all  your  little  duds 
close  to  your  hand  ;  gas,  instead  of  kerosene  ;  bell- 
wires  ready  to  your  hand,  instead  of  having  to  de 
scend  stairs  and  do  your  own  errands  ;  food  cooked 
your  own  way,  and  just  when  you  want  it ;  and 
over  and  above  all,  to  be  able  to  say  what  shall,  and 
what  shall  not,  be  inside  your  front  door.  May  the 
gods  make  us  thankful  so  far  !  But  if  I  could  get 
a  breath  of  dear  Newport  now,  before  I  buckle 
down  to  work  ;  if  I  could  have  just  one  drive  more 
in  my  horse  and  phaeton  round  the  u  ocean  road," 
and  smell  the  good  salt  breeze,  and  see  the  crisp 
white  foam  of  the  dashing  waves,  I  think  it  would 
quite  set  me  up  for  the  winter  campaign.  As  to 


158  Getting  to  Rights. 

my  horse,  I  know  he  wants  me  as  much  as  I  do 
him.  I  don't  think  he  has  made  much,  in  exchang 
ing  my  free  and  go-easy  "  chirrup "  for  the  lash  of 
the  whip.  I  wish  I  were  a  man,  and  then  I  could 
drive  here  in  the  city  ;  but  I  ain't,  you  see,  and  so  I 
shall  have  to  get  the  snarl  out  of  my  tired  nerves 
some  other  way. 

Let  us  change  the  subject.  Is  it  not  funny  how 
a  man  will  go  on  inspecting  your  efforts  to  get  a 
house  to  rights  ?  Is  it  not  funny  how  he  never  can 
tell  how  "  a  thing  is  going  to  look,"  till  every  ac 
cessory  is  perfected  ?  Now  he  says,  "  What  made 
you  choose  that  dull  carpet,  nobody  can  tell."  You 
reply,  "  Because  it  is  capable  of  such  brilliant  con 
trasts  in  color."  He  shakes  his  head,  having  no 

"  O 

imagination  to  help  him  out,  and  thinks  it  "  a  blun 
der."  You  smile  serenely,  knowing  your  ground, 
and  bide  your  time,  while  he  croaks.  By  and  by, 
some  day,  when  he  has  gone  out,  the  little  bits  of 
color  are  added  by  you,  here  and  there :  a  bright 
vase,  or  a  cushion,  or  a  stand  of  flowers,  or  the  color 
of  a  mat  judiciously  chosen;  and  my  gentleman 
walks  in,  and  says,  "  Why,  who  would  have  thought 
it  ?  it  is  really  lovely  !  "  That,  of  course,  is  only 
setting  himself  down  for  a  goose  ;  but  when  is  ever 
a  man  anything  else,  when  he  attempts  to  criticise  a 
woman's  housekeeping  in  any  of  its  departments  ? 
You  despise  his  encomiums  now,  and  with  nose  in 
air,  walk  round  among  your  flowers  and  pretties,  as 
if  to  say,  "  In  future,  sir,  confine  yourself  to  Grad- 
grind  matters  that  you  understand,  and  leave  the 


Getting  to  Hights.  159 

decorative  part  of  your  existence  to  one  who — 
Hem ! " 

I  aclie  from  head  to  foot  with  my  herculean 
efforts  to  bring  things  in  this  house  to  a  bright  New 
England  focus.  But  I  am  not  sorry,  because  I  can 
now  put  to  rout  some  articles  lately  written,  by  a 
very  bright  woman  too,  on  "  the  inexactness  of  hired 
women's  work,  as  compared  to  the  fidelity  and  ex 
actness  of  hired  men's  work."  I  am  happy  to  state, 
that  after  my  new  parlor  carpets  were  nailed  down, 
by  men  too,  I  discovered  several  little  blocks  of 
wood  and  other  nuisances  underneath,  which  should 
have  been  first  removed ;  thus  perilling  the  future 
wear  of  my  pretty  new  carpet.  I  am  happy  to 
state  too,  that  the  papering  done  by  men  was  not  to 
my  mind,  or  according  to  my  order,  and  had  to  be 
done  over  again.  I  rejoice  to  say  that  my  window- 
shades  are  not  yet  forthcoming,  according  to  a 
man's  promise ;  and  that  it  was  only  by  personal 
supervision  that  my  cellar  was  thoroughly  cleansed 
by  a  man,  as  he  agreed  it  should  be.  In  short,  I 
don't  want  to  hear  any  more  on  the  "  exactness  of 
man's  work,"  since  he  can  fib,  and  slight  things, 
with  an  adroitness  worthy  of  a  woman,  and  I  am 
sure  I  couldn't  put  the  case  any  stronger. 

Now  I  am  going  to  fold  my  hands  and  be  com 
fortable.  I  can't  have  my  horse  this  winter,  and  so 
I  sha'ii't  sigh  any  more  for  him  /  but  if  I  live  till 
the  spring,  that  horse,  or  some  other,  has  got  to  help 
me  get  rid  of  this  world's  cares  and  perplexities 
every  blessed  sunny  afternoon.  Let  us  trust  that 


160  Getting  to  Rights. 

lie  is  fattening  up  on  oats  paid  and  provided  for  in 
the  stable  of  some  philanthropist  unknown  to  me.  I 
have  had  so  much  of  the  details  lately,  that  I  shall 
be  quite  satisfied  with  results  without  inquiring 
further. 

I  wisli  I  were  a  voter :  I  would  vote  for  the 
officials  who  would  take  a  little  interest  in  the  house 
hold  ash-barrel.  It  may  be  too  much  to  ask  that 
the  McGormicks,  and  McCormicks,  and  O'Flaher- 
tys,  who  are  paid  for  emptying  these  utensils — when 
it  don't  rain,  and  when  they  don't  forget  it — should 
not  empty  the  contents  on  the  pavement,  and  then 
half  shovel  them  up,  to  save  themselves  the  exertion 
of  lifting  the  barrels,  which  they  always  throw 
down  upon  their  sides,  to  roll  wheresoever  the  gods 
or  idle  boys  will.  It  may  be  too  much  to  ask  that 
they  should  amend  their  ways  in  these  particulars ; 
but  were  every  lady  housekeeper  a  voter,  as,  thank 
Providence,  they  are  sure  to  be  some  day  or  other, 
these  gentlemen  would  either  have  to  toe  the  mark, 
or  be  run  over  by  the  new  wheel  of  progress. 

Meantime,  it  is  of  little  use  for  Bridget  to  sweep 
the  sidewalk,  or  keep  the  gutter  free,  as  she  often 
pathetically  remarks  to  me,  when  she  goes  forth  to 
perform  this  matutinal  duty.  Now,  as  the  tools 
used  in  my  profession  keep  sharper  and  freer  from 
rust,  in  the  air  of  Manhattan,  than  elsewhere,  I  can 
not  be  expected  to  vacate  for  the  dry-dirt-man. 
The  only  alternative  that  I  know  of  is,  that  he  shall 
vacate  for  me,  and  make  room  for  more  executive 


Getting  to  Rights.  161 

officials.  That's  logic,  if  it  is  feminine.  In  sliort, 
I  want  those  men  to  take  a  little  journey  somewhere 
— I'm  not  particular  where,  so  that  they  don't  come 
back. 

It  grows  clearer  to  me,  every  day,  as  I  observe 
these  one-horse  arrangements,  why  women  are  not 
allowed  to  vote  :  there  would  be  little  margin  then 
for  all  this  cheating,  this  pocketing  of  salaries  with 
out  an  equivalent.  The  sidewalks,  gutters,  streets 
would  be  as  clean  as  a  parlor  floor.  No  old  boxes, 
or  kegs,  or  boots  and  shoes,  past  their  prime,  would 
challenge  our  eyes,  or  our  noses.  The  drinking- 
places  would  be  disgorged  of  husbands,  fathers, 
lovers,  an(J  brothers  ;  also  the  billiard  and  gambling 
saloons.  In  short,  the  broom  of  reform  would  raise 
such  a  dust  in  the  eyes  of  the  how-not-to-do-its, 
that,  when  their  vision  was  restored,  they  would 
ask,  like  the  old  woman  whose  skirts  were  curtailed 
while  taking  her  nap,  if  "  this  be  I  ? " 

Meantime  I  wait — not  patiently — for  this  millen 
nium.  It  galls  me — this  dirt  and  thriftlessness — 
more  in  the  Autumn  than  at  any  other  time.  In 
the  Spring  it  is  sufficiently  odious  ;  but  then  one  is 
on  the  wing  for  the  country,  and  that  hope  buoys  a 
housekeeper  under  it.  In  the  Winter  the  friendly, 
pure  white  snow  comes,  with  its  heavenly  mantle  of 
charity,  to  cover  it  sometimes.  But  who  or  what 
shall  comfort  the  housekeeper  in  the  lingering, 
golden  days  of  the  Indian  Summer,  when  fresh 
from  the  pure  air  of  the  country,  and  the  brilliant 
foliage  of  the  valleys,  and  the  lovely  shadows  on 
11 


162  Getting  to  Rights. 

«/  «/ 

the  liillsides,  she  is  -  doomed  to  see,  to  smell,  to 
breathe  whatever  of  pollution  and  unthrift  our  city 
fathers  choose,  without  the  power  to  cast  the  vote 
that  shall  give  us  a  clean  city  ? 

Meantime,  as  I  say,  I  wait — not  patiently — for 
that  desired  millennium ;  and  shall  continue,  with 
a  touching  faith  in  it,  to  keep  flowering  plants  in 
my  windows,  and  in  other  ways  to  signify,  to  the 
passer-by,  that  dirt  and  unsightliness,  and  bad  odors, 
are  riot  and  never  have  been,  the  normal  condition 
of  woman. 


OUR  MORNING  MEAL. — Breakfast  should  be  the 
most  enlivening  meal  of  the  whole  day,  for  then  we 
are  to  be  nerved  for  another  day's  duties  and  cares, 
and  perhaps  for  great  sorrows  also.  Let  there  be  no 
exciting  argument,  from  which  personalities  may 
crop  out,  around  the  breakfast  table.  Let  there  be, 
if  possible,  only  pleasant  topics,  and  affectionate 
salutations,  that  all  may  go  forth  their  separate 
ways  with  sweet,  peaceful  memories  of  each  other  ; 
for  some  foot  may  never  again  cross  the  family 
threshold,  some  eye  never  witness  another  day's 
dawning.  This  thought,  if  the  busy  world  were  not 
so  clamorous  as  to  stifle  it,  would  often  arrest  the 
impatient,  fretful  words  that  pain  so  many  tender 
hearts. 


MODERN  MARTYRS. 

S  cheerful  "  Book  of  Martyrs  "  strikes  us 
as  incomplete.  lie  tells,  to  be  sure,  of  peo 
ple  who  have  been  roasted  alive,  cut  up,  torn 
limb  from  limb,  disembowelled,  and  suffered  various 
other  trifling  annoyances  of  that  kind  ;  but  though  I 
have  perused  it  carefully,  I  see  no  mention  of  the 
unhappy  wretch  who,  coming  home  at  twelve  o'clock 
at  night,  with  frozen  fingers,  gropes  round  his  room, 
bumping  his  nose,  and  extinguishing  his  eyes,  in  the 
vain  search  for  his  match-box,  the  latitude  and  longi 
tude  of  which  some  dastardly  miscreant  has  changed. 
Nor  do  I  see  any  mention  of  him  who,  having 
washed  his  hands  nicely,  looketh  in  vain  for  a  towel, 
where  a  towel  should  be,  while  little  rivulets  of 
water  run  up  his  shirt-sleeves  or  drip  from  his  ex 
tended  finger-tips.  No  allusion  either  is  made  to 
her  who,  sitting  down  to  her  time-honored  portfolio, 
misseth  one  sheet  of  MS.  which  somebody  has  flut 
tered  out,  and  straightway  gone  his  heedless  way. 
Nor  yet  of  the  unhappy  owner  of  a  pen,  whose  pace 
answers  only  to  one  hand,  and  whose  nib  has  been 
tampered  with  by  some  idle  scribbler,  in  multiplying 
the  name  of  "  Laura,"  or  "  Matilda,"  to  an  indefinite 
extent,  over  a  sheet  of  paper  as  blank  as  his  mind. 
I  see  no  mention  of  her  who,  sitting  down  to  write, 


164  Modern  Martyrs. 

is  made  frantic  by  the  everlasting  grind  of  a  hand- 
organ  beneath  the  window ;  that  performer's  welcome 
retreat  being  followed  by  a  shaky  old  man  with  a 
wheezy  flute,  or  the  more  horrible  bagpipe  perform 
ance,  compared  with  which  the  shrieks  of  twenty 
cur-tailed  cats  were  heaven's  own  music.  I  have 
not  noticed  any  mention  of  her  who,  giving  her  hus 
band  a  letter  to  drop  into  the  post,  finds  the  same  a 
month  afterwards  in  the  pocket  of  a  vest,  which  he 
tosses  her  to  mend.  I  see  no  mention  of  the  lady- 
victims  of  owners  of  shops,  three  miles  long,  who  have 
always  "just  the  article  you  want "  at  the  very  far 
thest  extremity  of  the  store  ;  and  whom  they  lure  to 
traverse  that  distance  only  to  find  something  in  the 
shopman? s  view  "  infinitely  superior,"  but  about  as 
near  the  article  wanted  as  is  the  North  to  the  South 
pole.  No  mention  either  is  made  of  the  gentleman 
with  a  bran  new  coat,  who  takes  the  last  seat  in  the 
car,  next  a  child  fond  of  wriggling,  with  a  piece  of 
soft  gingerbread  or  a  moist  stick  of  candy  in  its  un 
certain  gripe.  Nor  is  any  allusion  made  to  the 
friend  of  the  family,  who  furnishes  all  the  children 
with  holiday  toys,  every  one  of  which  has  either  a 
crucifying  squeak  or  a  stunning  explosive  power, 
which  soon  fits  their  amiable  mother  for  a  lunatic 
asylum.  Nothing  is  said,  as  I  can  find,  of  that  mis 
tress  of  a  family  to  whom  the  morning  hours  are  as 
precious  as  gold  dust,  and  who  is  called  down  to  see 
a  gentleman,  who  (having  read  Jones  on  the  door- 
plate)  straightway,  with  sublime  assurance,  asks 
"  for  Mrs.  Jones,  on  particular  business ; "  when 


Modern  Martyrs.  1G5 

that  lady,  descending,  finds  a  well-dressed,  well- 
groomed  individual,  who,  with  a  smirk  and  a  bow, 
straightway  draws  from  his  pocket  "  a  bottle  of  fur 
niture  polish,"  which  he  exhausts  all  the  dictionary 
and  her  patience  in  extolling;  or  presents  to  her  no 
tice  a  "  cement  for  broken  china,"  or  "  samples  of 
needles."  Scarcely  has  she  rid  herself  of  this  nui 
sance,  when  "  a  boy  wishes  also  to  see  Mrs.  Jones 
on  particular  business/'  which  turns  out  to  be  the 
hoped-for  sale  of  "  six  envelopes,  two  steel-pens,  a 
pencil,  a  brass  breast-pin,  a  tin  trumpet,  a  corkscrew, 
and  four  sheets  of  letter-paper — all  for  sixpence  — 
and  just  sold  three  next  door,  mum" 

Is  not  the  boarding-house  public  an  army  of  mar 
tyrs  ?  As  to  boarding-house  life,  I  detest  it  every 
way :  its  public  feeding,  its  scandal,  its  heteroge- 
neousness,  its  tyrannical  edicts  against  babies  and 
young  children,  its  stifling  atmosphere  of  roast,  and 
boil,  and  stew,  and  tobacco-smoke,  its  punctual  de 
livery  of  your  letters  and  parcels,  on  the  entry  table  • 
its  way  of  sweeping  your  room  at  most  inconvenient 
hours,  and  dusting  it  with  one  summary  whisk  from 
a  long-handled,  feather-tailed  switch ;  its  conveni 
ent  deafness  to  the  jerk  of  your  bell- wire ;  its  ho- 
mo30pathic  coffee  and  pie ;  its  towels,  threadbare  in 
quality,  and  niggardly  in  quantity  ;  its  parlor,  showy 
and  shabby,  with  its  inevitable  centre-table,  with  its 
perennial  annuals,  its  hump-backed  rocking-chair, 
and  distorted  pictures — and  apoplectic  bills. 

The  necessity  it  entails  of  always  wearing  a  mask  ; 
of  fearing  to  speak,  lest  you  should  tread  on  the  toes 


1G6  Modern  Martyrs. 

of  your  neighbor's  pet  hobby,  and  thereby  deprive 
yourself  of  the  convenient  bridge  over  which  the 
salt  and  pepper  must  necessarily  travel  to  your 
plate,  waiters  being  stupid  and  scarce  ;  the  bore  of 
talking  when  yon  feel  taciturn,  or  having  your 
neighbor  provokingly  insist  upon  it  that  you  must 
be  ill ;  the  bore  of  laughing  when  you  feel  sad,  and 
hearing  threadbare  topics  rediscussed,  and  stale  jokes 
resurrectionized ;  the  misery  of  never  being  able  to 
have  the  first  unfolding  of  your  own  morning-paper, 
or  of  having  it  incontinently  disappear,  in  company 
with  some  unprincipled  boarder  bound  on  a  day 
break  journey,  and  that  day  sure  to  be  aggravating}/ 
dull  and  rainy ;  the  necessity  of  always  turning 
your  keys  upon  boxes  and  trunks,  and  the  certainty 
of  losing  or  misplacing  them  when  you  are  in  a 
double-twisted,  insane  hurry ;  your  contracted,  closet- 
less  space  ;  your  inevitable  city  window  prospect  of 
back  sheds,  with  ghostly  garments  hanging  on 
ffroaniiifir  clothes-lines  ;  of  distracted  bachelors  at 

O  £"5 

upper  chamber-windows,  vainly  essaying  to  sew  on 
missing  buttons,  and  muttering  inaudible  oaths  at 
their  clumsy,  needle-pricked  fingers. 

Now,  if  you  needs  must  boardj  go  to  the  biggest 
and  best  hotel  you  can  find,  where  everybody  is  too 
much  occupied  to  interfere  with  your  personal  busi 
ness  ;  where  waiters  are  plenty,  and  it  is  not  high 
treason  to  ask  for  salt  with  your  meat.  If  your  fi 
nances  forbid  this,  then,  in  mercy  to  yourself,  rent 
a  shanty  where  no  third  person  is  a  fixture  in  your 
family,  where  you  can  sneeze  when  your  nose  has  a 


Modern  Martyrs.  167 

call  that  way,  and  where  your  hopes  and  fears,  joys 
and  sorrows  will  not  be  leisurely  dissected  by  the 
cool  fingers  of  malignity,  and  where  that  nightmare, 
Paul  Pry-ism,  is  not  always  astride  of  your  heart  and 
brain. 

That's  my  opinion  of  boarding-houses,  and  may 
the  gods  have  mercy  on  the  bored.  Let  us  have  a 
new  edition  of  Fox  at  once. 


AN  EEKOE  TO  AVOID. — All  writers  do  best  who 
depict  that  which  they  have  seen  with  their  own 
eyes,  instead  of  their  "  mind's  eye."  It  is  very  easy 
to  detect  the  difference.  There  is  a  glow,  a  natu 
ralness,  a  fidelity  to  life  in  the  first,  that  is  never  to 
be  found  in  the  last.  And  yet  how  many,  stepping 
past  their  own  legitimate  points  of  observation,  and 
looking  only  through,  the  fog  of  imagination,  give 
us  dim,  distorted,  crude  caricatures  of  life  and 
human  beings,  the  counterpart  of  which  never  has 
and  never  will  exist.  This  is  especially  the  fault  of 
beginners,  whose  misdirected  aim  it  is  to  startle  and 
astonish. 


WRITING  «  COMPOSITIONS." 


HAYE  lately  received  a  '  letter  which  it 
would  be  wrell  every  teacher  and  parent  in 
the  land  should  read.  As  I  shall  not  betray 
the  name  or  residence  of  the  distressed  young  writer, 
of  whom  I  have  110  knowledge  except  what  is  com 
municated  by  her  letter,  and  as  it  may  call  attention 
to  the  last-drop-in-the-bucket  misery,  inflicted  upon 
children  already  sufficiently  overtasked,  who  are 
required  to  furnish  ideas  upon  a  given  subject, 
which  it  is  utterly  impossible  their  young  minds 
should  grasp,  I  shall  make  no  apology  for  transcrib 
ing  it  verbatim  ;  calling  particular  attention  to  the 
italicized  passages  : 


AUNT  FANNY:  —  You  have  said  you  are 
Auntie  to  all  poor  girls  in  distress.  I  am  in  distress, 
if  ever  anybody  was  ;  and  1  know  that  you  will  be 
kind  to  me.  Let  me  tell  you  about  it.  I  have  ex 
pected  to  graduate  in  about  two  weeks  ;  and  I  have 
no  essay  to  read,  and  if  I  don't  have  one  I  can't 
graduate.  I  would  not  care  so  much  for  that  my 
self,  but  my  father  would  be  so  disappointed  ;  and 
he  has  made  so  many  sacrifices  to  keep  me  at  school, 
that  I  can?t  disappoint  him.  Oh  !  I  have  worked  so 
hard  to  keep  up  with  my  class,  for  I  am  obliged  to 


Writing  "  Compositions"  169 

be  absent  so  much,  and  now  if  I  can't  go  through, 
I  shall  die,  I  know.  I  am  not  afraid  of  passing  ex 
amination,  for  I  know  I  can  do  that  successfully, 
but  I  never  could  write  any  kind  of  a  decent  com 
position  ;  and  now  it  seems  as  though  it  was  worse 
than  ever,  for  I  have  tried  for  four  months  to  write 
one,  but  I  am  farther  off  from  it  than  ever.  I 
know  that  you  will  think  me  very,  very  dull,  and  I 
suppose  I  am ;  but,  oh !  Aunt  Fanny,  do,  do  pity 
me.  Please,  please  write  me  one  to  read — you  can 
do  it  in  a  very  short  time.  I  know  that  it  is  a  very 
great  favor  to  ask  of  you,  and  I  should  not  dare  to 
do  it,  but  oh !  I  am  almost  crazy,  and  I  know  by 
your  writings  that  you  will  pity  and  help  me.  I 
pray  every  night  that  God  will  help  me,  and  I  think 
He  put  it  into  my  heart  to  write  to  you  about  it.  I 
have  tried  everything.  Oh,  dear  !  I  can't  write  on 
anything  at  all.  /  have  sat  up  all  night,  ~but  I  am 
as  dull  as  ever,  and  I  dream  about  it  when  I  go  to 
sleep.  Oh  !  Aunt  Fanny,  do,  do  pity  me,  and  write 
for  me.  I  will  do  anything  in  this  wide  world  for 
you.  Oh,  please,  do  ;  I  will  never  forget  you.  You 
can  do  anything  almost;  I  will  bless  you  forever. 
Oh,  I  shall  die  if  I  dorft  have  one  !  Do  write  me 
a  line,  anyway,  and  direct  to  — — — , .  Ex 
cuse  me  for  writing  so,  but  I  am  nearly  desperate. 
Oh,  for  the  love  of  God,  do  write  me  one  in  two 
weeks,  or  at  most  three  !  I  dare  not  even  read  over 
what  I  have  written  to  you.  Oh!  Aunt  Fanny, 
clon't  refuse  me." 


170  Writing  "  Compositions? 

A  better  comment  than  this  touching  letter,  upon 
the  present  forcing,  hot-house  system  of  education, 
even  I  should  not  desire.  Think  of  this  young  girl, 
goaded  to  the  very  verge  of  insanity  by  those  who 
should  know  that  they  are  defeating  the  very  object 
they  are  trying  to  attain  by  forcing  the  young  mind 
to  string  together  to  order,  and  by  the  page,  words 
without  ideas.  In  my  opinion  this  "  composition  " 
business  is  the  greatest  possible  nonsense.  I  believe 
it  to  be  the  baneful  root  of  the  inflated  style  of 
writing  so  prevalent.  I  believe  that  there  are  exer 
cises  in  English,  which  would  serve  the  purpose  mil 
lions  of  times  better  without  driving  pupils  mad, 
and  without  offering  them  a  premium  for  deceit,  in 
passing  off  as  their  own  the  thoughts  of  others. 
Not  long  since,  I  received  a  letter  from  the  princi 
pals  of  a  school,  enclosing  "  a  composition  "  to  which 
"a  prize"  had  just  been  awarded,  and  which  some 
person  present  at  the  reading  had  detected  as  stolen 
from  one  of  my  books ;  with  a  request  that  I  would 
look  it  over  and  pronounce  upon  the  same.  I  found 
it  word  for  word  as  I  had  written  it  in  my  book ! 
Perhaps  the  moral  effect  of  this  system  may  be 
worth  inquiring  into,  even  by  those  who  seem  to  be 
utterly  insensible  to  the  wretched  spectacle  of  a 
young  head  tossing  feverishly,  night  after  night,  on 
the  pillow,  under  the  brooding  nightmare  of  an  un 
written  "  composition."  Let  careless  parents,  who 
are  quite  as  much  to  blame  as  teachers,  give  this 
subject  a  thought. 

Now,  girls,  I  fully  sympathize  with  you  in  your 


Writing  "  Compositions."  171 

distractions  in  this  dilemma,  but  this  is  not  the  way 
to  help  you  out  of  it.  I  advise  you  to  ask  your 
teacher  to  allow  you  to  describe  some  scene  or  place 
you  have  visited,  which  you  could  easily  do ;  then 
write  it  out  naturally,  as  if  you  were  telling  it  to  some 
friend,  without  any  attempt  at  fine  language.  Also 
ask  your  teacher  to  allow  you  to  stop  when  you  yet 
through,  instead  of  exacting  so  many  lines  or  pages 
when  your  ideas  give  out.  That  is  the  only  way 
that  good  "  compositions  "  can  be  written,  and  I  wish 
fervently  all  school-teachers  knew  it,  and  ceased 
bothering  poor  young  heads  "to  make  bricks  with 
out  straw,"  or  resort  in  their  distress  to  the  deception 
you  propose  to  me. 

"  Composition  day,"  it  is  true,  in  my  school-days, 
was  only  a  delight  to  me.  But  you  should  have 
seen  the  idiot  I  was  in  arithmetic  or  algebra,  or  his 
torical  dates !  How  I  pinched  the  girl  next  me  to 
help  me  out ;  and  how  gratefully  I  remembered  it, 
in  after  years,  and  embroidered  my  gratitude  on  her 
first  baby's  little  flannel  petticoats ! 

Now,  my  clear  young  ladies,  don't  be  discouraged 
because  you  are  slow  at  "  composition."  As  I  say, 
it  is  not  your  fault,  for  half  the  time  the  most  im 
possible  subjects  are  given  you  to  write  about. 
Your  minister  might  just  as  well  be  asked  to  write 
a  dissertation  on  French  millinery.  Then,  though 
your  gift  may  not  be  "  composition,"  it  may  lie  in 
something  quite  as  important;  so  with  this  little 
consolation  I  leave  you  to  wriggle  out  of  your  di 
lemma  the  best  way  you  can,  without  pilfering. 


172  Writing  "  Compositions" 

And,  moreover,  I  think  a  meeting  of  school-teachers 
ought  speedily  to  be  called  to  consider  this  compo 
sition  subject  and  make  it,  as  easily  might  be  done, 
a  delight,  instead  of  a  bore  and  a  cheat. 


THE  LITTLE  ONES. — Fortunate  are  those  parents 
who  have  learned  to  respect  the  individuality  of 
their  children.  Who  are  not  madly  bent  upon 
planting  them  in  the  family  garden  in  set  rows,  and 
so  closely  that  their  branches  have  no  room  to 
stretch  out  into  the  fair  sunlight.  Who  are  not  for 
ever  on  hand  with  the  priming-knife  or  hoe,  to  lop  off 
that  which,  if  left,  would  develop  into  sweet  buds 
or  flowers ;  or  to  dig  the  earth  prematurely  from 
roots  which  were  better  left  safely  hidden  till  their 
natural  period  of  vigorous  appearing.  A  gardener 
who  should  be  guilty  of  such  folly  would  be  a  laugh 
ing-stock.  What  if  all  his  flowers  were  of  one 
color  ?  What  if  every  twig  and  leaf  were  of  the 
same  size?  How  weary  should  we  be  of  this  mo 
notony.  How  we  should  long  for  the  delicate  pink 
of  the  rose,  and  the  royal  purple  of  the  violet,  and 
the  pure  snow  of  the  lily,  and  the  distinctive  aroma 
of  each !  Why  not  in  this  respect  take  a  lesson  from 
Nature,  which  is  at  once  so  bountiful  and  so  wise? 


NICE  LITTLE  TEA-PARTIES. 


OSPITALITY  seems  to  be  an  extinct  virtue. 
Grand  parties  we  have  in  plenty  of  all  kinds, 
where  those  who  have  vitality  sufficient  to 
attend  them,  and  purses  long  enough  to  compete 
with  the  vulgar  show  attending  them,  may  return 
such  hollow  civilities,  and  "  have  it  over,"  as  they  ex 
press  it. 

"  Have  it  over !  "  There's  just  the  fly  in  the 
ointment.  The  old-fashioned,  genuine  hospitality 
never  was  "  over."  Nobody  wanted  it  "  over."  A 
simple,  elegant  little  tea,  a  well-cooked,  well-served, 
plain  family  dinner,  one's  friend  was  always  wel 
come  to  join,  without  a  printed  card  of  invitation 
weeks  beforehand,  accompanied  with  a  whispered, 
"  I  hope  to  gracious  they  won't  accept ! "  But  that, 
alas!  is  all  in  the  past.  Fashion  has  decreed  an 
elaborate  show  of  food,  dishes,  and  dress.  Families 
pinch  themselves  a  whole  year  for  one  grand  display 
of  this  kind,  in  the  endeavor  to  compete  with  those 
whose  means  perhaps  may  justify  this  barren  style 
of  entertaining,  and  where  stupefaction  and  a  con 
sequent  lack  of  intelligent  conversation  are  the 
only  result,  save  a  long  bill  of  expense.  The  conse 
quence  is,  that  people  whose  time  is  valuable,  and 


174  Nice  Little  Tea-Parties. 

whose  vitality  is  too  precious  to  expend  in  this  way, 
refuse  all  such  invitations.  But  the  unfortunate 
part  of  it  is,  that  many  of  them  do  not  revive  the 
old  simple  hospitality;  and  when  expostulated  with 
upon  setting  a  better  example,  only  reply,  that  the 
prevailing  taste  for  show  has  so  vitiated  everything, 
that  there  are  few  who  care  to  go  where  it  is  not 
the  order  of  the  entertainment. 

Now  we  don't  believe  this.  We  have  too  often 
heard  sensible,  cultivated,  refined  men  and  women 
deplore  it,  to  credit  this  idea.  But  they  are  in  the 
maelstrom ;  Mrs.  So  and  So  is  a  particular  friend, 
and  "  she  thinks  she  must  go  through  with  this  vul 
gar  parade,"  or,  "  her  husband  likes  it ; "  and  "  they 
think  every  time  that  they  accept,  they  never  will 
do  it  again,  even  for  her,"  etc.  Now  it  isn't  that 
there  are  "  few  who  don't  like  it : "  but  it  is  true 
that  there  are  few  who  have  the  independence  to  in 
augurate  a  different  state  of  things — to  be  truly 
hospitable  without  excessive  upholstery,  or  gastron 
omy,  or  fine  millinery. 

To  my  mind,  there  is  something  better  than  sitting 
hours  to  see  servants  dexterously  place  and  take 
away  dishes.  One  sees  that  at  home  in  lesser  degree, 
and  with  less  waste  of  time.  One  can  converse  with 
one's  hostess  there,  and  she  will  not  answer  at  ran 
dom,  because  her  mind  is  occupied  with  processions 
of  birds  and  sugar  and  wines.  Little  children's 
faces,  like  flowers,  are  there,  in  place  of  a  stiff  bou 
quet  of  flowers  and  silver  pyramids  obscuring  pne's 
vis-d-vis.  There  is  a  home  flavor  which  puts  the 


Nice  Little  Tea-Parties.  175 

most  modest  guest  at  ease,  and  permits  him  or  her 
to  bring  forth  something  in  the  way  of  conversation 
that  is  not  the  inflamed  product  of  half  a  dozen 
kinds  of  wine — something  to  remember  and  think 
of  afterward  with  pleasure,  instead  of  blushing  next 
day  to  associate  with  the  speaker. 

I  say  there  are  people,  and  the  best  kind  of  peo 
ple  too,  who  much  prefer  this  style  of  entertain 
ment  ;  but  they  should  not  rest  there.  They  should 
inaugurate  something  better  in  their  place,  instead 
only  of  retiring  in  disgust  under  the  shelter  of  their 
own  roofs,  and  living  only  for  their  own  family  cir 
cles.  They  owe  a  duty  also  to  society,  and  it  should 
be  paid  by  setting  a  sensible  example  of  old-fashioned 
simplicity  in  hospitality,  which  in  time  may  reform 
this  matter.  People  who  value  their  brains  want 
them  in  decent  condition  for  the  next  morning,  and 
the  next  morning  after  that,  and  cannot  afford  to 
waste  them  in  this  manner.  It  is  a  matter  of  dollars 
and  cents  with  them,  I'd  have  you  to  know,  as  well 
as  a  matter  of  taste  ;  if,  indeed,  I  may  be  pardoned 
for  putting  forward  an  idea  so  practical.  They 
wish  to  retire  early,  for  one  thing ;  they  prefer  out 
door  air  for  another,  when  they  are  off  duty  with 
the  pen,  instead  that  of  a  close,  stifled  room,  and  the 
spectacle  of  feeding  and  drinking  till  sense  and  wit 
give  out.  This  is  plain  talking,  but  it  won't  hurt 
you,  my  friends,  to  have  a  little  occasionally. 


A  SLEEPLESS  NIGHT. 

know  what  it  is  to  lie  awake  at  night,  I 

o        " 

suppose,  while  every  lumpish  human  creat 
ure  in  the  house  is  sleeping,  regardless  of 
the  perspiration  standing  in  drops  on  your  be 
witched  forehead ;  regardless  of  your  twitching 
fingers,  and  kicking  toes,  and  glaring,  distended 
eyes  ;  regardless  of  your  increasing  disgust  at  each 
miserable  moment  at  the  monotonous  tap,  tap,  tap, 
of  solitary  heels  on  the  forsaken  sidewalk  ;  regard 
less  of  your  meditated  vengeance  on  the  morrow, 
should  you  perchance  survive  to  see  it,  upon  the 
owner  of  that  flapping-blind  across  the  way,  which 
has  been  slamming  fore-and-aft  all  night,  and  yet 
never  dropped,  as  you  hoped  it  might,  on  somebody's 
or  anybody's  head — you  didn't  care  whose,  so  that 
you  might  have  been  delivered  from  the  nuisance. 

In  vain  have  you  tried  the  humbugging  recipe  of 
saying  the  Multiplication  Table ;  in  vain  have  you 
repeated  poetry  by  the  yard,  or  counted  one  hun 
dred  ;  in  vain  have  you  conj  ugated  verbs,  or  done 
any  of  the  foolish  things  recommended  in  such 
cases.  Two  o'clock  has  just  struck,  and  no  som 
niferous  result  has  followed.  Well — if  you  can't 
sleep,  -you  won9 1  sleep,  that's  all.  You'll  just  get  up, 
and  strike  a  light  and  read.  You  do  it;  but  the 


A  Sleepless  Night.  177 

fire  is  low,  and  cold  shivers  run  up  and  down  your 
back-bone  You're  hungry !  yes — that  must  be  it. 
You'll  go  to  the  closet,  and  get  a  bit  of  cold  chicken 
you  wot  of.  Good  heavens !  if  those  lumpish, 
snoring  wretches  haven't  devoured  it  before  going  to 
bed.  You  go  look  at  the  creature  vindictively  ;  you 
know  just  who  would  be  capable  of  such  a  mean 
ness.  She  has  slept  there  these  three  hours,  on  the 
strength  of  that  bit  of  purloined  chicken — your 
chicken — while  you  haven't  closed  an  eyelash.  She 
will  sleep  comfortably  till  daylight ;  and  get  up 
with  a  clear  head,  and  refreshed  limbs,  to  breakfast. 
Then  she  will  eat,  like  a  great  healthy  animal,  while 
food  looks  perfectly  nauseous  to  you,  who  will  then 
be  too  exhausted  to  be  hungry.  You  look  at  the 
creature  again,  and  think  of  Judith  and  Holofernes ; 
and  don't  wonder  as  you  used  at  Judith.  Indeed, 
she  seems  to  you  at  that  moment  rather  an  estima 
ble  person  than  otherwise  ;  and  as  to  pitying  Holo 
fernes,  why  should  you  pity  anybody  who  could 


You  walk  to  the  window.  It  is  some  comfort 
that  the  stars  have  to  wink  all  night  as  well  as  you. 
And  there's  a  policeman,  dragging  up  and  down  in 
the  cold,  and  clapping  his  hands  across  his  breast  to 
keep  \varm.  Good !  you're  glad  of  it.  Four 
o'clock !  Gracious !  how  you  will  feel  to-morrow. 
If  you  only  had  a  bottle  of  ale  to  make  you  stupid 
and  drowsy.  And  sure  enough,  now  you  think  of  it, 
there  is  just  one  left.  You  seize  it !  "Why — some 
body  has  unwired  the  cork.  Merciful  man !  it  is 
12 


178  A  Sleepless  Night. 

only  Ink.  Now,  that's  a  little  too  much  for  a  tired 
soul.  Suppose  you  should  begin  and  run  from  the 
top  of  the  stairs  to  the  bottom,  as  fast  and  as  loud 
as  you  could,  and  wake  up  the  whole  family.  And 
as  the  vision  of  terrified  night-gowns  rises  before 
your  mental  vision,  you  commence  grinning  noise 
lessly  like  a  maniac ;  then  laughing  hysterically ; 
then  crying  outright ;  and  the  next  thing  you  know 
it  is  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  coffee  and 
rolls  and  beefsteak  are  awaiting  your  advent. 

And  as  to  musquitoes.  Ah!  you  too  have  suf 
fered.  You  have  lain,  hour  after  hour,  listening  to 
that  never-ceasing  war-song,  till  you  were  as  ner 
vous  as  a  hump-backed  cat  face  to  face  with  Jowler 
in  a  corner.  You  have  "  turned  over  ;  "  you  have 
lain  on  your  side,  lain  on.  your  back,  lain  on  your 
face,  spite  of  your  prominent  nose.  You  have 
doubled  your  fists  up  under  your  arm-pits,  and 
twisted  your  feet  into  hard  knots  under  your  night- 
clothes,  to  no  avail.  You  have  then  fallen  back  on 
your  dignity  and  the  pigmy-ness  of  your  tormentors, 
and  folding  your  arms  resolutely  over  your  chest, 
and  looking  fiercely  up  to  the  ceiling,  exclaimed  : 

"  Come  one — come  all — this  bed  shall  fly 
From  its  stout  legs  as  soon  as  I !  " 

And  yet,  at  that  very  moment,  an  "  owdacious  "  bite 
has  sent  you,  with  a  smothered  exclamation,  into 
the  middle  of  the  floor,  bewailing  the  day  you  were 
born. 

Next  day  you  get  a  "  musquito  net."     What  a 


A  Sleepless  Niglit.  179 

fool  not  to  think  of  it  before.  You  festoon  it  round 
your  bed.  It  looks  pink-y  and  safe.  You  explore 
it  carefully  that  night  before  getting  in,  that  no 
treacherous  crevice  be  left  for  the  enemy.  You 
put  out  the  light,  and  oh !  happiness  unutterable, 
listen  to  their  howl  of  rage  outside^  which  sounds 
like  the  "  music  of  the  spheres,"  and  fall  asleep. 
Next  morning  you  wake  with  a  splitting  headache. 
Can  it  be  the  confined  air  of  the  net  \  Horrible  ! 
You  spend  that  day  nursing  your  head  and  your 
wrath.  Why  were  musquitoes  made  ?  You  find  no 
satisfactory  solution.  What  do  they  live  on  when 
not  devouring  human  beings?  Why,  in  the  same 
bed,  is  one  bitten  and  the  other  left  ?  Why  infest 
New  York,  and  leave  Brooklyn,  whose  inhabitants 
deserve  punishment  for  monopolizing  Beecher? 
Why,  if  they  must  bite,  not  pitch  in  at  once,  instead 
of  stopping  to  harrow  you  by  giving  a  concert. 

That  night  you  refuse  to  gasp  under  a  net,  for  all 
the  musquitoes  that  ever  swarmed.  You  even  light 
your  gas  defiantly,  open  the  windows,  and  sneer  at 
the  black  demons  as  they  buzz  in  for  their  nocturnal 
raid.  You  sit  and  read — occasionally  boxing  your 
own  ears — till  the  small  hours,  and  then — to  bed ; 
only  to  dash  frantically  against  the  wall,  throw  your 
pillows  at  the  enemy,  laugh  hysterically,  and  rise  at 
daylight  a  blear-eyed,  spotted,  dismal  wretch ! 


WOMEN'S  NEED  OF  EECREATION. 


READ  an  article  the  other  day  on  working- 
's  clubs,  which  set  me  thinking.  In  it  was 

set  forth  the  necessity,  after  a  man's  hard 
day's  work,  of  an  evening  of  rest,  away  from  home, 
where  he  should  find  light  and  warmth,  and  boon 
companionship,  other  than  is  to  be  found  in  the  cor 
ner  grocery. 

Now  this  is  well,  were  there  not  a  better  way,  as 
I  believe.  I  am  not  about  to  propose  clubs  for 
working-women,  because  our  police  reports  show 
every  day  that  they  have  existed  for  a  long  time — 
thanks  to  "  corner  groceries " — and  that  they  are 
made  of  any  implement  that  comes  handy,  and  re 
sult  in  bruised  flesh  and  a  broken  head.  This  being 
the  case,  I  cannot  see  why  the  working-woman,  as 
well  as  the  working-man,  does  not  need,  after  a  hard 
day's  work,  "light,  warmth,  and  boon  companion 
ship  of  an  evening,  away  from  home."  Nay,  all 
the  more,  since  work,  hard  as  her  husband  may,  it 
is  often  in  the  fresh,  open  air ;  or,  if  not,  he  has  it 
going  and  returning,  and  the  boon  companionship  of 
his  fellow- workmen  with  it ;  while  she,  with  "  Ginx's 
last  baby  "  to  look  after,  in  some  noisome  tenement 
house,  stands  over  the  perpetual  wash -tub  or  cook- 


Women's  Need  of  Recreation.       181 

ing-stove,  with  two  or  three  half-grown  children 
hanging  to  her  draggled  skirts,  never  exchanging 
her  unwomanly  rags,  not  even  perhaps  to  mass  for  a 
hurried  prayer  in  the  church  which,  God  be  thanked, 
is  free  alike  to  poor  and  rich,  and  which  suggests,  in 
its  own  way,  a  distant  heaven  for  her. 

Thinking  over  all  this,  I  said  why  not  Germanize 
this  thing  ?  Why  not  have  clubs  for  working-men 
and  their  families,  with  innocent  amusement  minus 
the  drink  ?  Isn't  it  possible  ?  Or  if  not,  I  wish  it 
were,  for  the  poor  harassed  women's  sake.  1  only 
see  the  millennial  germ  of  it ;  but  this  I  know,  that 
the  wives  need  it  more,  far  more,  than  their  hus 
bands,  the  wide  world  over,  and  in  every  strata  of 
society ;  by  the  pains  of  motherhood,  even  in  favor 
able  conditions ;  by  her  intenser  nervous  organiza 
tion  ;  by  her  indoor  confinement  and  narrowing, 
petty  detail-worries ;  by  the  work  that  ends  not  at 
sundown  as  does  his.  By  the  wakeful,  unrestful 
nights,  which  every  mother  knows ;  this  is  the  hard 
est,  most  wearing  kind  of  work,  110  matter  what 
may  be  said  of  the  husband,  who  has  his  sleep  at 
least ;  who  demands  that  in  every  family  exigency 
as  his  right,  and  as  the  foundation  of  his  ability  to 
labor  for  his  family.  Ah!  what  if  the  wife  and 
mother,  with  less  strength,  feebler  organization, 
should  make  a  stand  for  this  ?  even  when,  in  addi 
tion  to  her  other  cares,  she  helps  in  some  outside 
honest  way  to  support  the  family  ? 

Does  she  not,  too,  need  warmth,  light,  and  boon 


182        Women'1  s  Need  of  Recreation. 

companionship  of  an  evening?  While  it  is  true 
that 

"  All  work  and  no  play 
Makes  Jack  a  dull  boy," 

remember  it  is  jnst  as  true  of  Jack's  wife  as  it  is  of 
Jack,  and  the  founders  of  "Working-men's  Clubs" 
would  do  well  to  put  this  into  their  foundation. 

I  wish  that  some  of  the  pains  taken  to  make  hu 
man  beings  "good"  were  expended  in  trying  to 
make  them  happy.  Particularly  is  this  necessary  in 
regard  to  young  people,  though  it  is  a  fact  that 
should  be  recognized  much  more  than  it  is,  in  the 
conditions  of  every  human  being.  Let  a  little  sun 
shine  into  the  outward  circumstances  surrounding 
them  before  you  begin  to  talk  about  a  future  state. 
There  are  children,  and  grown  people  too,  so  cob- 
webbed  over  with  care  and  misery,  that  all  talk, 
how  "good"  soever,  is  useless.  They  want  some 
brightness  infused  into  their  lives.  It  may  be  a 
wife— weary,  body  and  soul;  tired  of  plodding; 
she  needs  some  kind  voice  to  say  (alas !  how  little 
husbands  think  of  it !) :  "  Come,  leave  all  your 
cares  just  now,  this  minute,  and  if  you  can't  leave 
without  I  take  your  place,  I'll  take  it,  and  it  will 
be  a  gain  to  both  of  us;  for  you  have  come  just 
to  that  spot  where  you  must  stop  to  rest,  or  fail 
entirely."  It  may  be  a  little  child  under  your  care, 
perhaps  your  own,  perhaps  another's ;  who  is  not 
really  "  bad"  but  only  troublesome.  It  wants 
change ;  a  ramble  in  the  Park,  or  a  ramble  some 
where  ;  something  to  see  and  talk  about,  and  happify 


Women? s  Need  of  Recreation.       183 

it;  some  new  objects  to  occupy  its  mind  and 
thoughts;  and  the  more  intelligent  the  child  is,  the 
more  necessary  this  becomes.  Many  a  child  is  pun 
ished  because  its  active  mind,  having  no  food,  be 
comes  a  torment  to  itself  and  others.  Give  it  food! 
Take  it  up  to  the  Park  and  show  it  the  animals  there. 
Tell  it  of  their  habits,  and  the  way  they  live  in  the 
countries  from  which  they  were  taken.  This  is  a 
cheap  pleasure,  it  is  true,  and  may,  though  it  ought 
not  to  be,  a  very  commonplace  one  to  you;  but 
you  have  no  idea  how  it  freshens  the  mind  and  body 
of  the  little  one.  Sometimes  I  almost  think  that 
happiness  is  goodness.  Certainly,  till  the  hard  and 
difficult  lesson  of  life  is  thoroughly  learned,  it  is 
wise  to  lend  a  helping  hand  to  those  who  are  stumb 
ling  after,  lest  they  fall  by  the  way  to  rise  no  more. 

Perhaps  you  have  some  good  servants  in  your 
house  whose  underground,  plodding  life  needs  re 
lief,  who  have  grown  sharp  and  querulous  on  ac 
count  of  it;  whose  lot  needs  brightening  a  bit. 
Send  them  or  take  them  to  some  place  of  amuse 
ment  ;  give  them  a  holiday,  or  half  a  holiday  if  you 
can  do  no  better.  You  have  no  idea  how  this  break 
in  their  wearisome  round  will  lighten  toil  for  many 
a  day;  and  more  because  you  thought  of  it,  perhaps, 
than  from  the  pleasure  the  amusement  afforded. 

Life  presses  heavily  on  most  of  us  in  one  shape  or 
another.  They  are  not  always  the  greatest  sufferers, 
whose  barrel  of  meal  and  cruse  of  oil  fail.  There 
fore,  when  I  open  a  church  door,  and  the  first  sen 
tence  I  hear  is  about "  An  Awful  God,"  I  sometimes 


184        Women"1 *s  Need  of  Recreation. 

want  to  invite  the  speaker  to  rest  himself  a  bit,  and 
let  me  try  my  hand  at  it.  I  believe  that  most  people 
want  soothing,  and  comforting,  and  encouraging, 
more  than  denouncing  or  frightening,  even  though 
the  latter  be  done  with  good  intentions.  I  know 
most  women  have  been  "  punished  "  enough  during 
the  week,  without  being  threatened  with  it  in  an 
other  world  on  Sundays.  Take  that  poor  soul  with 
a  drunken  husband,  who  tries  to  support  him  and 
herself,  and  no  end  of  children,  by  washing,  and 
whose  husband  comes  home  only  to  demand  her 
money,  and  smash  up  her  wash-tub  and  table  and 
chairs  for  his  amusement.  Would  you  talk  to  that 
woman  about  an " awful  God"  when  she  stole  away 
to  church  for  a  crumb  of  comfort  on  Sunday  ?  You 
had  much  better  buy  her  a  new  wash-tub,  and  put 
her  brute  of  a  husband  where — but  it  won't  do  to 
say  all  one  thinks,  even  out  of  "  meetin'." 


THE  GOOD   OLD  HYMNS. 

ID  you  never  know  any  person  who  was 
brought  up  on  the  good  old  Zion-hymns, 
•whom  they  ever  failed  to  move  to  the  foun 
dations  when  heard  ?  The  feet  moving  on  unholy 
errands  linger  on  their  way  past  the  church  door, 
as  the  melody  floats  out  upon  the  air.  That  man— 
who  has  wasted  life,  and  energy,  and  talent,  which 
might  have  blessed  mankind,  to  reap  only  the  whirl 
wind — he  is  back  again  with  his  little  head  upon 
his  mother's  lap,  while  she  sings  that  same  hymn, 
which  will  never  grow  old,  about  "  the  beautiful 
river."  His  eyes  moisten  as  he  thinks  how  pained 
she  would  be,  were  she  living,  to  know  him  now. 
The  hymn  ceases,  and  the  low  benediction  follows, 
and  as  the  worshippers  emerge,  he  recollects  him 
self,  and  with  an  impatient  pshaw !  passes  on. 
"What,  he  moved  at  a  "  conventicle  hymn  "  ?  lie, 
who  for  years  has  never  crossed  the  threshold  of  a 
church  !  He  ?  who  believes  neither  in  prayer  nor 
priests,  Bible  nor  Sundays  ?  He,  who  has  "  out 
grown  all  that"?  Ah!  out  he  hasn't.  He  can't 
outgrow  it.  It  is  there.  It  will  come,  whether  he 
desires  it  or  no.  Come  in  spite  of  all  his  efforts  to 
laugh  or  reason  it  away.  Come,  though  he  lives  in 
open  derision  and  mockery  of  that  religion  whose 


186  The  Good  Old  Hymns. 

divine  precepts  lie  cannot  efface  from  his  mind. 
Come,  as  it  did  to  John  Randolph,  who,  after  years 
of  atheism  and  worldiness  and  ambition,  left  on 
record,  "  that  the  only  men  he  ever  knew  well  and 
approached  closely,  whom  he  did  not  discover  to 
be  unhappy,  were  sincere  believers  of  the  Gospel, 
who  conformed  their  lives,  as  far  as  the  nature  of 
man  can  permit,  to  its  precepts."  "  Often,"  he  says, 
"  the  religious  teachings  of  his  childhood  were  ban 
ished  wholly  by  business  or  pleasure;  but  after 
a  while  they  came  more  frequently,  and  stayed 
longer,  until  at  last  they  were  his  first  thoughts  on 
waking  and  his  last  before  going  to  sleep."  Said  he, 
"  I  could  not  banish  them  if  I  would." 

"  How  and  then  I  like  to  go  into  a  church,"  said 
a  young  man  apologetically  to  a  companion  who 
was  deriding  the  idea.  "  Priestcraft !  priestcraft ! " 
exclaimed  his  companion.  "  Tell  me  what  possible 
good  can  it  do  you  \  "  "  Well,"  said  the  young  man, 
"  somehow,  when  I  hear  those  hymns  it  is  like  hear 
ing  the  pleading  voice  of  my  mother  as  1  left  home 
to  become  the  graceless  fellow  I  am  now.  I  cannot 
tell  you  how  they  move  me,  or  how  they  make  me  wish 
I  were  better.  If  I  ever  do  become  better,  it  will  be 
because  I  cannot  separate  them  from  all  that  seems, 
in  my  better  moments,  worth  embodying  in  the 
word  '  home.'  "  Walter  Scott  said  to  his  son-in-law, 
when  he  was  on  his  death-bed,  "  Be  a  good  man, 
Lockhart — be  a  good  man ;  nothing  else  will  give 
you  any  comfort  when  you  come  to  lie  here."  It 
were  easy  to  multiply  instances  where  earth's  gifted 


The  Good  Old  Hymns.  187 

and  greatest  have  borne  similar  testimony,  after 
having  tested  all  that  the  world  had  to  offer,  as  an 
equivalent  for  "  that  peace  which  passeth  all  under 
standing." 

Parents  sometimes  say  with  tears,  my  boy  has 
forgotten  all  my  teachings.  You  don't  know  that. 
You  can't  say  that  till  the  grave  closes  over  him. 
Said  a  good  mother  I  knew,  who  kept  on  sing 
ing  those  hymns,  and  whose  faith  never  faltered 
through  long  years,  when  her  only  son  disgraced 
the  family  by  intemperance,  "  John  will  come  right 
by  and  by.  He  must"  And  day  after  day,  when 
he  was  brought  home  helpless,  the  mere  wreck  and 
libel  of  manhood,  she  smilingly  repeated  to  all  cavil 
lers  :  "  John  will  come  right.  I  know  it.  Every 
day  I  ask  God  to  give  him  'back  to  himself,  and  I 
'know  He  will  do  it." 

And  John  did  come  right.  Out  of  that  horrible 
pit  of  degradation  he  emerged  "  clothed  and  in  his 
right  mind."  lie  is  now  in  good  business  standing, 
owns  the  house  he  lives  in,  is  the  comfort  and  pride 
of  the  patient  wife  who,  with  his  mother,  waited 
woman-like,  Christ -like,  all  those  weary  years  for 
his  return.  I  myself  have  seen  him  in  church,  when 
the  Sacramental  wine  was  passed  to  him,  bow  his 
head  reverently  and  humbly  over  the  cup  without 
raising  it  to  his  lips. 

Never  despair  of  a  child  who  strays  away  from 
those  hymns.  Somewhere  between  the  cradle  and 
the  tomb  be  sure  those  hymns  will  find  him  out. 

Only  he  to  whom  heaven  is  a  reality,  can  possibly 


188  The  Good  Old  Hymns. 

preserve  liis  self  poise  in  the  jarring  conflict  of  life. 
How  can  man,  constantly  disheartened  and  disap 
pointed  as  he  is,  by  the  apparent  triumph  of  wrong 
over  right,  by  the  poverty  of  those  of  whom  the 
world  is  not  worthy,  in  contrast  with  the  gilded, 
fall-fed,  honored  wickedness  which  seems  to  give 
the  lie  to  everything  to  which  our  better  natures 
cling,  how  can  man,  under  such  circumstances, 
walk  hopefully  in  the  narrow  path,  if  beyond  and 
through  the  mists  of  the  valley  he  discerns  not  the 
serene  mountain-tops  ?  No — only  the  Christian  can 
say  in  view  of  earthly  loss  and  disappointments :  "It 
is  well — let  Him  do  what  seemeth  to  Him  good." 
Only  the  Christian — nor  need  he  be — nor  is  he — of 
necessity  a  "  church  member," — can  say — "  Though 
He  slay  me,  yet  will  I  trust  in  Him." 


LADIES,  DON'T  Do  IT. — Every  modest  woman 
should,  set  her  face  against  any  fashion-  which  could 
for  a  moment  identify  her  with  those  women  who 
have  no  claim  to  modesty,  no  matter  how  "stylish" 
that  fashion  may  be  termed.  This  word  "stylish" 
has  much  to  answer  for  in  this  regard.  Dr.  John 
son's  rule  was  a  good  one :  "  Dress  so  that  no  person 
can  possibly  remember  what  you  have  on."  Unfor 
tunately,  the  reverse  of  this  rule  is  that  which  is 
generally  aimed  at,  even  by  women  who  in  other 
matters  command  respect. 


A  STRANGER  IN  GOTHAM. 


I  HIS  unfortunate  is  easily  recognized  in  New 
York,  by  its  frantic  bewilderment  in  at 
tempting  to  cross  Broadway ;  now  standing 
still,  now  leaping  forward,  now  running  back,  in  that 
agony  of  indecision  which  is  the  best  and  surest 
recipe  for  a  broken  neck.  Also  by  walking  with 
its  mates  three  abreast,  in  that  crowded  thorough 
fare,  as  if  room  was  as  plenty  there  as  in  its  native 
Frogtown.  Another  sure  sign  of  its  origin  is  in  its 
continuous  'and  demonstrative  waving  of  the  hand 
kerchief,  umbrella,  parasol,  basket,  or  any  other 
weapon  handy,  at  a  desired  omnibus  driver,  who  of 
course  knows  a  native  at  once  by  the  quiet  up 
lifted  forefinger.  Once  inside  the  omnibus,  the 
Btranger  may  be  known,  by  ferreting  anxiously  in 
all  his  pockets  for  a  five-dollar  bill,  instead  of  hand 
ing  up  the  ready  sixpence  with  which  the  native 
avoids  eternal  self-reproach  and  the  maledictions  of 
hurried  fellow-passengers.  Also,  the  stranger  may 
be  known  by  his  extreme  and  stunning  toggery  at 
places  of  public  amusement,  where  fashion  chooses 
to  sit  in  quiet  raiment. 

If  the  stranger  is  a  Bostonian,  he  may  at  once  be 
recognized  by  wearing — without  regard  to  his  pro- 


190  A  Stranger  in  Gotham. 

fession — a  sepulchral  suit  of  solemn  black,  with  im 
maculately  polished  boots  and  bosom,  and  a  stand- 
aside-I-am-holier-than-thou  air,  intended  to  crush 
the  sons  of  Belial  who  behold  it.  Let  it  not  be 
supposed,  however,  by  the  uninitiated,  that  this,  by 
any  means,  precludes  him  from  joining  any  gay 
or  festive  scene  which  New  York  holds  out  as  a  re 
ward  of  merit,  to  any  inflated  Pharisee,  for  a  pro 
longed  and  painful  spell  of  good  behavior. 

The  stranger  within  the  gate  is  sometimes  the 
angel  unawares ;  in  which  case  she  may  be  seen 
innocently  and  promiscuously  distributing  pennies, 
here  and  there,  among  bogus  "  objects  of  charity," 
and  feeling  good,  as  she  takes  a  last  pitiful  look  at 
the  painted  ulcer  on  the  1 — imb  as  sound  as  her 
own.  Or  she  may  be  seen,  verdantly  buying  one  of 
those  huge  cabbage  bouquets,  in  alternate  mutton- 
chop  streaks  of  white  and  red,  got  up  for  the  delec 
tation  of  strangers,  and  pensively  applying  it  to  her 
gratified  nose,  when  her  head  is  not  spinning  a  tee 
totum  after  some  new  freak  of  fashion,  as  displayed 
in  a  new  arrangement  of  passing  feather,  ribbon,  or 
bow. 

As  if  the  equilibrium  of  a  New  Yorker  could  be 
disturbed  by  any  such  trifles !  No.  Omnibus 
horses  may  rise  and  fall,  like  the  waves  of  the  sea. 
"Extra"  boys  may  yell  themselves  black  in  the 
face.  Regiments  in  all  the  hues  of  the*reig?i-lea'U, 
may  come  and  go ;  but  unless  somebody  knocks  the 
well-beloved  cigar  from  his  jaded  lip,  Satan  may 
claim  him  for  his  own,  for  aught  he  would  move  a 
muscle.  * 


MY  JOURNEY  TO  QUEBEC  AND 
BACK  AGAIN. 

F  there  is  a  feeling  akin  to  Heaven,  it  is  to 
reach  home  after  a  long  journey.  And  this 
I  take  to  be  quite  consistent  with  great  en 
joyment  of  all  the  beautiful  things  and  places  one 
has  seen  in  one's  absence — aye,  and  people,  too. 
To  sit  down  in  your  own  dear  old  chak*,  and  kick 
your  slippers  across  the  room ;  to  talk  without  be 
ing  overheard ;  to  eat  with  only  those  whom  you 
love  about  you — for  this  promiscuous  hotel-feeding 
is  repulsive  to  me  beyond  the  power  of  expression. 
I  think  I  am  peculiar  on  this  point,  but  it  seems  to 
me  as  great  an  individual  profanation  as  to  admit 
the  same  number  of  people  to  see  you  perform  your 
toilette  for  dinner.  That  there  are  people  to  whom 
it  is  one  of  the  delights  of  travel  to  sit  down  to  such 

O 

hecatombs  of  food  with  such  a  menagerie  of  human 
beings,  I  am  well  aware.     I  am  not  one  of  them. 

The  first  place  we  visited  was  Saratoga  ;  don't  be 
frightened.  I  leave  "  New  York  correspondents  " 
of  newspapers  all  over  the  country  to  give  fabulous 
accounts  of  fabulous  belles,  and  the  number  of  their 
lovers,  which  will  very  generally  be  found  to  cor 
respond  with  the  number  of  their  trunks.  I  am 
not  going  to  venture  on  so  hackneyed  a  theme, 


192  My  Journey  to  Quebec. 

hotel  life  being  the  same  at  Saratoga  as  any 
where  else — simply  one  eternal  dress  and  eat. 
The  place  itself  was  what  I  went  to  see — the 
springs — the  grounds — not  the  peacocks  that  were 
in  them.  The  ornamental  grounds  attached  to 
the  springs  are  very  lovely  and  attractive,  as 
well  as  faultlessly  kept,  affording  abundant  op 
portunities  to  sighing  lovers  and  bread-and-butter 
maidens.  Contrary  to  my  expectations,  I  found  the 
waters  very  palatable,  though,  were  I  compelled  by 
fashion  to  wash  down  my  morning  orisons  with  ten 
or  twelve  tumblers  full,  I  might  change  my  mind. 
It  is  curious  how  long  they  have  bubbled  up  there, 
as  freely  as  now,  the  Indians  having  partaken  of 
them  a  fabulous  time  back.  The  fountain  might 

O 

be  made  more  attractive,  did  some  pretty  girl  do  the 
tumbler-dipping  for  visitors,  instead  of  the  matter- 
of-fact  jacket  and  trousers  who  handed  it  to  us — I 
merely  throw  this  in  as  a  suggestion.  We  stepped 
into  a  shop  opposite  the  springs,  to  see  the  opera 
tion  of  bottling  and  corking  the  waters  performed 
by  machinery ;  the  celerity  with  which  this  was  ac 
complished  was  very  gratifying  to  my  Yankee 
chain-lightning  notion  of  things,  and  being  a 
Yankee,  of  course  it  was  not  out  of  my  line  to  think 
what  a  very  nice  piece  of  property  it  must  be  to 
hold,  for  this  and  other  palpable  reasons.  I  trust 
all  the  sentimental  Misses  who  have  had  "  offers " 
over  those  tumblers  of  water  will  forgive  me. 

Stepping  into  one  or  two  shops  in  the  village,  to 
hunt  up  some  nick-nacks  for   a  dear  little  girl  at 


My  Journey  to  Quebec.  193 

home,  I  encountered  some  familiar  New  York  shop 
faces.  One  woman  told  me  that  she  hired  a  shop 
there  every  year  during  the  "season,"  and  that 
many  other  New-Yorkers  did  the  same,  retreating 
again  when  the  tide  of  fashion  set  cityward.  They 
calculate  rightly — the  shopping  mania  never  will  be 
burned  out  of  women  while  there  is  a  timber  left 
of  her ;  and  were  there  nothing  but  an  old  horse- 
blanket  in  the  village,  she  would  buy  it,  if  she  had 
to  throw  it  away  the  next  minute.  I  wish  it  to  be 
understood  that  I  do  not  share  this  furore  of  my 
sex,  as  I  never  enter  a  shop  of  my  own  free  will, 
until  my  clothes  show  signs  of  dropping  off  my  back 
unless  replaced. 

The  lady  visitors  at  Saratoga  get  themselves  up 
most  stunningly,  to  walk  through  the  streets  to  the 
springs,  with  their  white  embroidered  petticoats 
peeping  from  beneath  their  rainbow-colored  silk 
morning-dresses,  and  black-lace  veils  thrown  Span 
ish  fashion  over  their  heads,  making  unhandsome 
faces,  if  only  refined,  look  picturesque.  This  an 
nual  wave  of  folly,  said  I,  must  send  its  ripples 
farther  than  the  circumference  of  this  village.  I 
had  hardly  made  the  remark,  before  two  barrel- 
shaped  country  lasses  passed,  with  tawdry,  cheap 
imitations  in  delaine  of  the  Saratoga  silk  morning- 
dress,  and  with  coarse  black  veils  thrown  round 
their  sunburnt  faces.  It  was  a  capital  burlesque, 
though,  I  assure  you,  the  maidens  themselves  were 
far  from  regarding  it  in  that  light. 

The  private  cottages  on  the  grounds  of  the  hotel, 
13 


194  My  Journey  to  Quebec. 

for  families  and  parties  who  choose  to  live  by  them 
selves,  are  nice  little  cosey  affairs.  This  is  a  much 
pleasanter,  and,  to  my  mind,  a  much  more  civilized 
arrangement  than  living  at  the  public  hotel ;  but,  as 
the  execrable  organ-grinder  wouldn't  stop  playing 
for  sixpence,  so  the  landlord,  knowing  well  the 
value  of  peace  and  quietness,  charges  accordingly. 

From  Saratoga  we  went  the  usual  route  to  Lake 
G-eorge,  performing  the  last  miles  by  stage  coach. 
That's  nice,  thought  I, — a  change  of  convey 
ance  wonderfully  eases  the  limbs — i.  <?.,  if  they  are 
not  past  easing.  I  was  hasty  ; — a  heavy  rain  set  in, 
and  came  driving  first  into  the  windows,  through 
which,  at  the  risk  of  dislocating  our  elbows,  we 
spread  our  umbrellas  for  spouts.  Then  the  roof 
began  to  leak,  and  gentlemen  shrugged  the  shoulders 
of  their  linen  travelling  coats,  and  whispered, 
".Rheumatism  ;  "  and  ladies  benevolently  offered  the 
corners  of  their  travelling  cloaks  and  shawls  to  the 
victims ;  and  temporary  plugs  were  made  for  the 
roof,  of  "  The  New  York  Times,"  which  we  found 
"  would  not  hold  water ; "  and  night  came  on,  and 
the  rain  grew  more  persistent,  and  we  got  accus 
tomed  to  sitting  in  a  puddle ;  and  the  wheels  sank 
in  the  mud,  and  the  old  coach  "  tetered  " — as  the 
children  say — -now  this  side,  now  that,  and  the  most 
inveterate  joker  of  the  party  had  long  been  dumb ; 
when  the  coachman,  who  had  been  jogging  on  in  a 
helpless,  despairing  way,  gave  his  whip  the  profes 
sional  crack,  which  sent  our  noses  up  to  the  roof  for 
a  last  final  rub,  and  the  wet,  draggled,  muddy, 


My  Journey  to  Quebec.  195 

hungry,  dead-and-alive  crew  were  dragged  out 
piecemeal  over  the  wheels  of  the  coach,  on  to  the 
piazza  of  the  "  Fort  William  Henry  Hotel,"  where 
were  a  swarm  of  colored  waiters,  where  was  a  band 
of  music  on  the  piazza,  where  was  a  sumptuous  par 
lor  of  interminable  length — mirror,  tete-a-tete,  and 
piano.  But,  unfortunately,  none  of  all  those  could 
we  eat  or  drink.  Woman  wants  but  little  here  be 
low,  but  I'll  tell  all  you  landlords  what  she  does 
want.  After  sitting  in  a  puddle,  beside  endur 
ing  a  shower-bath  at  the  same  time  through  the  roof 
of  the  coach,  a  hot  cup  of  tea  it  might  not  be  unrea 
sonable  for  her  to  expect.  It  is  very  well  for  men 
to  "  pooh ! "—they  can  afford  to  be  philosophical — 
they  who  run  to  the  bar-room  and  get  "  set  up,"  as 
they  call  it,  on  their  arrival,  or  console  themselves 
for  cold  tea,  sour  berries,  and  tough  beefsteak,  with 
the  infallible  cigar. 

The  question  is  how  their  philosophy  would  hold 
out  if  there  were  no  cigars  to  be  had,  and  no  bar 
room,  and  they  were  shaking  in  an  ague  of  cold  ?  I 
hate  a  fussy  woman  who  is  always  digging  down  to 
the  bottom  of  hotel  salt-cellars,  and  microscopically 
inspecting  potatoes ;  but  I  will  say,  that  when  every 
thread  of  a  woman's  raiment  is  dripping,  it  takes  a 
more  angelic  being  than  I  am  to  go  shivering  to  bed 
on  a  cup  of  cold  tea,  past  an  army  of  darkies  whom 
you  are  too  vexed  with  their  employer  to  bribe. 

The  next  morning  it  still  rained,  and  as  there  was 
no  inducement  in-doors  to  remain,  our  breakfast 
being  worse  than  our  tea  of  the  night  before,  we 


196  My  Journey  to  Quebec. 

made  our  escape  into  the  little  steamer  "  Minne- 
haha  "  to  see  Lake  George ;  and  lovely  it  was,  spite 
of  fog,  and  mist,  and  rain,  as  we  glided  away  be 
tween  its  green  shores,  and  past  its  fairy  islands, 
startling  out  the  little  birds  from  their  leafy  nests 
into  short,  swift  circles  over  our  heads,  then  back 
again,  where  never  perhaps,  since  the  creation,  man's 
foot  has  trod. 

Lake  George  is  a  little  gem,  though  we  saw  it 
only  through  a  vale  of  mist,  the  sun  absolutely  re 
fusing  to  brighten  it  up  for  one  brief  moment. 
"  Such  a  pity.  It  must  be  surpassingly  lovely  on  a 
fine  day,"  we  all  kept  saying  to  one  another,  as  we 
anxiously  watched  the  gray  clouds.  Everybody 
seemed  to  be  in  good  spirits,  however,  and  some 
ladies,  more  romantic  than  wise,  took  their  stations 
on  the  upper  deck,  spite  of  the  slanting  rain  and 
mist,  giving  their  gentlemen  friends  constant  em 
ployment  in  tucking  shawls  round  their  feet  and 
shoulders,  till  they  looked  like  bandaged  mummies. 
After  a  while  they  came  down,  and  I  saw  certain 
mysterious-looking  flasks  drawn  from  the  afore 
mentioned  gentlemen's  pockets,  and  held  to  their 
blue  lips,  by  which  token  I  concluded  that  brandy 
sometimes  does  for  a  woman  what  sentiment  will 
not. 

And  now  again  the  old  lumbering  stage-coach  is 
in  requisition  for  a  seven-mile  jog,  and  trot,  and 
plough  through  the  mud,  and  we  pack  in,  like 
layers  of  herring,  and  there  is  plenty  of  joking  and 
laughing,  for  many  of  the  party  are  young  and 


My  Journey  to  Quebec.  197 

merry,  and  it  was  blessed  to  listen  to  their  ringing 
laughter,  and  look  upon  their  bright  eyes.  Many  a 
good  thing  was  said,  though  had  it  not  been  half  as 
good,  we  were  all  prepared  to  laugh  upon  the 
slightest  provocation,  for  our  legs  and  arms  were 
bundled  np  in  such  a  way,  as  rendered  "  dignity  " 
quite  out  of  the  question,  and  gravity  an  impossi 
bility.  At  last  we  arrived  (I  declare  I  believe  they 
called  the  thing  a  "hotel")  at  the  foot  of  Lake 
Champlain,  where  we  were  to  dine.  "Be  advised 
by  me,"  said  one  of  the  lady  passengers  to  me,  u  and 
don't  go  in  to  dinner.  I  did  it  once,  and  since, 
when  I  stop  here,  I  bring  my  own  sandwiches."  It 
is  sometimes  fun  to  sit  down  to  a  two-pronged-fork 
dinner,  and  the  rest  of  us  were  in  the  humor  for 
whatsoever  the  gods  sent,  so  in  we  went.  The 
staple  commodities  of  the  table  were  soft  huckle 
berries  and  fried  fish.  Two  girls — daughters,  I 
suppose,  of  our  host — waited  upon  table ;  that  is  to 
say,  they  rotated  in  a  certain  ghostly  fashion,  with 
their  arms  hanging  by  their  sides,  and  their  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  floor,  and  were  about  as  much  use  as 
two  statues  on  castors,  as  it  was  impossible  to  catch 
either  their  eyes  or  attention.  "  What  on  earth  is 
a  fellow  to  call  them  ? "  asked  one  hungry  man. 
"  Waiter !  "—that  didn't  appeal  to  them.  "  Girl !  " 
it  was  no  use.  "  You,  there  !  "  in  a  tone  of  impa 
tience.  The  rock  of  Gibraltar  couldn't  have  stood 
it  better. 

Now,  if  this  was  a  preconcerted  bashfulness,  it 
worked  admirably,  for  we  could  get  nothing  that 


198  My  Journey  to  Quebec. 

was  not  immediately  before  us,  unless  some  philan 
thropic  fellow-sufferer,  in  pity,  sent  a  pie  spinning 
a  la  Ravel,  down  the  table.  Well,  at  any  rate  we 
had  our  money's  worth  of  fun,  and  could  bear  it 
much  better  than  if  the  parlor  had  been  resplendent 
with  mirrors,  sofas,  tete-a-tetes,  and  "  grand  pianos," 
which  so  often  pave  the  way  for  a  terrible  disap 
pointment  as  to  everything  else.  "We  expected  little, 
and  got  less ;  but  those  imperturbable,  ghostly  girls 
cost  me,  many  a  time  and  oft  during  the  rest  of  my 
journey,  a  button  or  a  hook  and  eye,  as  the  picture 
came  up  before  me. 

Talk  of  Lake  George.  It  is  to  Lake  Champlain 
what  a  pretty,  little,  simpering,  pink-and-white  doll 
of  a  girl  is  to  a  magnificent  woman,  the  royal  sweep 
of  whose  robe  about  her  faultless  limbs  as  she 
moves,  sets  all  the  pulses  wild.  In  mercy  to  us  the 
clouds  parted,  and  the  bright  sun  broke  through  at 
last.  You  should  have  seen  it  then — the  queenly 
Lake  Champlain — with  the  bold,  dark /islands  that 
seemed  to  float  upon  its  silvery  smoothness,  with  the 
heavy  rain-clouds  gathering  up  their  forces,  and 
gliding  majestically  away  in  the  distance,  leaving  a 
sky  as  soft  and  blue  as  ever  arched  over  Eden. 
On  one  side  the  broad,  green,  cultivated  fields, 
stretched  away  fair  in  the  sunlight ;  on  the  other, 
pile  upon  pile,  were  the  huge,  dark  mountains,  up 
whose  steep  sides  the  soft  mist  was  wreathing  itself 
in  a  thousand  fantastic,  graceful  shapes.  It  was  a 
moment  such  as  all  of  us  have  sometimes  known, 
when  pleasure  is  so  intense  as  to  become  almost 


My  Journey  to  Quebec.  199 

pain ;  when  language  fails  ;  when  the  eye  fills,  and 
there  seems  more  "  Bible  "  between  the  blue  covers 
of  sea  and  sky  than  you  ever  looked  upon,  or 
listened  to,  before,  and  everywhere  you  turned,  a 
voice — "  the  still  small  voice  " — seemed  saying,  all 
this  I  made  for  you — for  you.  Now  you  might 
thunder  the  "  terrors  of  the  law  "  in  my  ears  ten 
months,  and  it  would  not  move  me ;  but  I  feel  like 
the  veriest  wretch  alive,  when  I  so  intensely  enjoy 
that  for  which  my  daily  life  is  so  paltry  a- return. 

The  boat  in  which  we  performed  this  trip  was  a 
Yankee  boat,  called  "  The  America,"  and  it  was 
enough  to  rouse  one's  patriotism  to  go  through  it; 
the  shining  neatness  of  its  decks  and  cabins;  its 
efficient  and  well-mannered  stewardess,  always  on 
hand,  yet  never  in  the  way,  understanding,  as  if  by 
intuition,  what  everybody  wanted ;  the  nice,  hot, 
orderly  supper,  with  waiters  that  had  ears,  and  knew 
how  to  use  their  feet.  I  was  glad  it  was  named 
"  The  America."  I  was  as  proud  of  the  beautiful 
boat  as  if  I  had  laid  her  keel.  But  all  pleasures 
must  have  an  end  ;  and  our  destination  being  Mont 
real,  we  were  soon  to  leave  thrifty,  go-ahead  Yan 
kee-land  and  all  its  peculiarities  behind.  As  we 
passed  the  pretty  town  of  Burlington,  the  residence 
of  the  poet  uSaxe,"  we  all  waved  him  our  most 
cordial  good  wishes,  which  we  trust  the  winds  bore 
him  safely. 

Upon  leaving  the  boat  for  the  cars,  which  were 
to  take  us  to  Montreal — Imprimis,  a  hideous,  cav 
ernous  looking  depot,  with  one  poor,  miserable  lamp 


200  My  Journey  to  Quebec. 

to  help  us  break  our  necks  by — a  great  talk  of 
"custom-house  officers  examining  trunks,"  and 
"  smuggling,"  etc.  What  a  jabbering  of  French 
when  we  took  our  seat  in  the  cars !  and  what  ex 
orbitant  fares  for  travelling  through  such  a  gloomy, 
God-forsaken,  pine-stump,  log-cabin  looking  coun 
try  !  Sleep  came  to  my  relief  on  a  safe  shoulder,' 
after  I  had  relieved  myself  by  the  above  speech. 
At  last  we  reached  the  funny,  foreign,  forlorn, 
cushioiiless  ferry-boat  that  was  to  land  us  in  Mont 
real,  and  as  true  as  preaching,  in  got  that  woman 
with  the  seven  babies ,  who  had  traveled  with  us  all 
day,  calm  as  an  oyster  in  its  shell,  though  the  whole 
seven  were  screeching  alternately  and  eternally, 
poor  little  toads,  and  still  continued  screeching,  with 
some  real  or  imaginary  pain  under  their  aprons.  I 
did  hope  the  poor  things  were  going  to  bed  some 
where  ;  but  no,  there  they  sat,  bolt  upright  in  the 
ferry-boat,  all  in  a  row — those  miserable  seven — 
with  their  mouths  wide  open,  sending  forth  the  dis- 
cordant-est  cries,  and  that  prolific  female  never  even 
perspired !  but  sat  with  her  fat  hands  folded  over 
her  belt,  calmly  accepting  her  conjugal  destiny ! 
And  this  is  Montreal,  said  I,  as  they  stood  me  up  on 
the  pier  with  the  trunks,  and  half  deafened  with 
the  French  jabber  about  me,  I  essayed  to  climb  up 
into  a  thing  (a  cross  between  a  New  York  omnibus 
and  a  "  Black  Maria ")  that  was  waiting  to  convey 
us  to  the  hotel.  And  this  is  Montreal.  Well,  I 
shouldn't  care  if  it  was  Sodom  and  Gomorrah,  if 
there's  only  a  bed  in  it.  When  I  mention  that  our 


My  Journey  to   Quebec.  201 

destination  was  "The  Donegana  House,"  every 
traveller  will  understand  that  to  be  but  another 
name  for  sumptuous  fare  and  the  most  assiduous 
attention  at  the  hands  of  the  handsome  landlord 
and  his  well-disciplined  corps  of  servants. 

In  all  honesty,  I  cannot  say  that  I  like  Montreal. 
It  may  be  a  very  substantially  built  town — I  believe 
that  is  what  they  say  of  it — but  one  likes  beauty  as 
well  as  strength,  and  my  eye  ached  for  something 
ornamental  in  the  way  of  flower-gardens,  or,  in  fact, 
in  any  other  way.  Red  coats  there  were  in  plenty, 
but  they  did  not  supply  the  deficiency.  Then  the 
never-ceasing  bell-ringing,  from  early  dawn  to  sun 
set,  would  soon  drive  me  as  mad  as  our  "  glorious 
Fourth  "  does  every  year,  when  gunpowder  and  bells 
and  cannon  have  it  all  their  own  way,  till  one  is 
tempted  to  wish  one  never  had  any  "  forefathers." 

Of^  oeurse  the  first  thing  that  we  saw  at  Montreal, 
as  also  at  Quebec,  was  "  New  York  Ledger  Out" 
all  over  the  Canadian  walls ;  and  nobody  can  com 
pute  the  thousands  they  said  were  sold  there,  so  that 
I  may  get  a  boxed  ear  for  saying  what  I  have  about 
Montreal,  and  as  there  is  a  possibility  of  it,  I  might 
as  well  be  cuffed  for  half  a  dozen  things  as  one,  and 
so  I'll  go  on  and  free  my  mind.  And  to  begin  with, 
I  confess  that  I  never  could  understand  that  curious 
piece  of  female  mechanism,  an  English  woman,  who 
is  shocked  almost  into  fits  at  the  way  American 
women  move,  act,  and  have  their  independent  be 
ing  generally;  who  can  get  along  with  nothing  but 
yea  and  nay,  thee  and  thou,  and  the  most  formal, 


202  My  Journey  to  Quebec. 

walk-on-a-crack  strait-lacedness  of  demeanor  and 
speech,  and  iced  at  that ;  who  is  ready  to  hold  up 
hands  of  holy  horror  at  the  idea  of  an  American 
parent  or  guardian  allowing  a  young  girl  to  be  left 
alone  with  her  lover  one  second  before  marriage  ; 
and  yet  these  pattern  icicles  will  strip  (I  know  it  is  a 
shocking  word,  but  it  is  the  only  one  that  will  ex 
press  my  meaning),  upon  going  to  a  ball,  or  the 
theatre,  with  a  freedom  that  would  make  any  decent 
American  woman  crimson  with  shame.  I  have  seen 
this  again  .and  again,  and  yet  the  prudes  lecture 
American  women  upon  the  proprieties.  Truly, 
great  is  English  propriety  !  I  saw  the  same  English 
latitude  in  dress  at  the  theatre  in  Montreal,  where 
were  assembled,  with  other  ladies,  many  of  the  wives, 
daughters,  and  sweethearts  of  the  English  officers. 
Of  course,  in  a  New  York  theatre  the  awful  voice 
of  fashion  would  vote  a  ball-room  dress  "  vulgar ;  " 
and  even  at  the  opera,  where  fashion  goes  to  yawn, 
and  whisper,  and  ogle,  ladies,  as  a  general  thing, 
wear  their  bonnets  and  opera  cloaks,  but  the  fair 
Montrealites,  having  but  few  places  of  public  amuse 
ment,  made  the  most  of  this,  and  of  their  personal 
charms  also,  and  the  result  was  stunning,  even  to  the 
eye  of  that  model  of  impropriety,  an  American  wo 
man.  Mesdames,  let  us  have  no  more  lectures  from 
English  lips  on  "American  female  improprieties," 
till  you  pick  this  big  beam  out  of  your  own  eyes.  As 
to  the  English  officers,  they  were  magnificent  speci 
mens  of  manhood;  tall,  broad-chested,  straight- 
limbed,  healthy,  muscular,  lovable  looking  men, 


My  Journey  to  Quebec.  203 

not  at  all  dependent  for  their  attractiveness  either 
upon  epaulette  or  uniform,  with  fine  bass  voices,  and  a 
jolly  laugh  that  was  a  regular  heart-warmer  to  hear. 
Of  course  we  saw  the  magnificent  cathedral  in 
Montreal.  I  did  not  think  it  necessary,  as  did  a  fel 
low-traveller,  one  Sir  Statistic,  who  forever  had  some 
unhappy  wretch  by  the  button,  asking  about  "  feet " 
and  "  inches,"  with  pencil,  paper,  and  "  guide-book  " 
— how  I  hate  a  guide-book !  I  did  not  think  it  nec 
essary  to  inquire  how  many  square  feet  there  were 
in  this  immense  building ;  I  knew  that  there  was 
one  pair  of  feet  in  it  that  were  not  square,  and  that 
had  to  support  the  body  to  which  they  belonged  till 
they  ached  for  want  of  a  seat,  as  heretic  feet  should, 
I  suppose,  from  a  Montreal  point  of  view,  though 
the  locked  empty  pews  were  very  tantalizing.  The 
sermon  was  in  French,  and  if  the  eye  of  my  old 
teacher  should  fall  on  this,  I  beg  to  say  to  her  lady 
ship,  that  notwithstanding  "  she  never  could  tell  how 
that  girl  was  ever  going  to  learn  French,"  and  not 
withstanding  "  that  girl "  has  never  rubbed  up  said 
French  since  she  left  school,  yet  she  was  able  to  un 
derstand  the  sermon,  as  also  the  French  signs  and 
labels  so  abundant  in  Montreal,  as  also  some  French 
remarks  about  herself,  all  the  while  looking  as  stu 
pid  as  she  very  well  knows  "  that  girl "  can.  But  to 
return  to  the  cathedral.  I  hold  up  both  hands  for 
the  largest  liberty  of  conscience  for  everybody,  and 
though  I  could  not  understand  why  one  set  of  priests 
took  such  tender  care  of  the  hind  lappets  of  another 
set  of  priests,  spreading  them  reverently  over  the 


204  My  Journey  to   Quebec. 

backs  of  their  chairs  for  them,  whenever  they  sat 
down,  or  why  candles  were  burned  in  broad  day 
light,  or  why  some  kept  sitting,  and  others  kept 
kneeling,  and  bowing,  and  crossing  themselves,  or 
why  some  glided  perpetually  in  and  out  from  be 
hind  the  altar,  or  why  some  swung  incense,  or  why 
some  were  dressed  in  red  and  wThite,  and  some  in 
black,  and  some  in  black  and  white,  yet  I  was  glad 
that  this  was  a  country  where  everybody  could  wor 
ship  the  way  it  best  pleased  him,  and  I  have  seen 
quite  too  much  to  condemn  in  other  sects  and  faiths, 
to  wish  to  interfere  with  this.  The  "confession 
boxes,"  some  for  English  sins,  some  for  French  sins, 
some  for  Spanish  sins,  labelled  each  with  the  name 
of  the  human  "  father  "  into  whose  ears  they  were 
to  be  poured,  gave  me  a  long  fit  of  thinking.  My 
sins  are  many,  but  it  is  not  there  I  would  unburden 
my  soul.  Still,  let  all  these  religious  problems  work 
themselves  out.  For  the  priests,  I  must  say,  in  all 
candor,  that  I  have  never  seen  a  body  of  men — and 
I  scanned  them  closely  whenever  and  wherever  I 
met  them — with  more  purity,  serenity,  and  perfect 
good-humored  content  expressed  in  their  faces. 
Their  life  being  active  and  out  of  doors,  may  in  part 
explain  this ;  but  alas  for  the  nuns !  immured  in 
those  tomb-like  walls ;  their  cheerf ullest  employment 
listening  to  the  moans  of  the  sick  and  the  groans  of 
the  dying,  in  the  hospital  wards  under  their  roofe. 
I  saw  them  come  into  chapel  two  and  two,  with 
downcast  eyes,  and  pallid  faces,  shrouded  by  the 
black  hood  of  renunciation,  and  kneeling  on  the 


My  Journey  to  Quebec.  205 

floor  chant  their  prayers.  Oh,  the  unnaturalness  of 
such  seclusion  for  a  woman !  If  they  could  but 
leave  outside  the  walls,  upon  entering,  their  human 
feelings,  and  really  be  the  cold  statues  they  look  / 
but  God  help  them,  they  do  not ;  they  are  but  wo 
men  still,  and  some  of  them  young,  and  one  look  in 
to  their  faces  told  the  story.  Nothing  could  exceed 
the  neatness  of  the  nunnery  we  visited,  or  the  apart 
ments  and  bedding  in  them  for  the  sick  and  disabled. 
One  man  whom  we  saw  there  had  been  strapped 
into  his  chair  like  an  infant  for  twenty-five  years, 
and  there  he  sat,  with  a  rosary  between  his  helpless 
fingers,  scarcely  living,  and  yet,  perhaps,  with  many 
a  year  of  patient  waiting  for  release  before  him. 
The  outer  door  of  the  convent  was  opened  for  us 
by  a  young  novice,  whose  sweet  face,  framed  in  pure 
white  muslin  bands,  was  beautiful  to  see.  Poor 
child,  sighed  I,  and  in  another  moment  I  thought  of 
the  gay,  bedizened  misery  in  Broadway,  and  I  said 
to  myself,  as  I  lingered  to  take  another  look  at  her, 
perhaps  'tis  better  so,  and  left  her  with  a  lighter 
heart. 

I  should  not  do  justice  to  Montreal  were  I  to 
omit  to  mention  the  drive  of  the  place,  "  round  the 
mountain."  A  New  York  gentleman  whom  we  met 
in  Montreal  took  us  round,  and  I  was  glad  I  saw 
the  city  at  parting  to  such  good  advantage ;  distance 
brightened  it  up  wonderfully,  and  the  St.  Lawrence 
sparkled  as  gayly  and  as  innocently  in  the  sunlight, 
as  if  its  waters  did  not  play  the  mischief  with  every 
traveller  who  tasted  them.  There  are  many  fine 


206  My  Journey  to   Quebec. 

country-seats  round  the  mountain.  We  saw,  too,  a 
"  haunted  house  "  in  this  ride,  and  verily,  the  occu 
pant  was  a  ghost  of  tastej  and  had  selected  for  him 
self  most  comfortable  quarters,  commanding  as 
lovely  a  view  as  you  or  I  or  any  other  ghost  would 
ever  wish  to  see.  I  proposed  leaving  my  card  for 
him,  with  a  view  to  better  acquaintance,  but  the 
rest  of  the  party  were  in  flesh-and-blood  humor,  and 
evidently  preferred  returning  to  the  manifold  creat 
ure  comforts  to  be  had  of  our  host  of  the  Donegana 
House.  We  left  next  morning  for  Quebec,  of 
which  more  anon.  My  kingdom  for  a  horse-blanket 
on  that  misty  morning  over  the  ferry  !  Instead  we 
had  two  priests,  buttoned  up  to  their  heels  in  long 
black  robes,  which  I  wanted  most  furiously  to  bor 
row,  for  I  was  shaking  with  cold,  and  New  York 
cold  and  Montreal  and  Quebec  cold,  let  me  tell  you, 
are  two  quite  different  things.  When  you  get  such 
a  cough  fastened  on  your  lungs  there  as  I  did,  you 
may  believe  it. 

I  liked  Quebec  much  better  than  Montreal.  Of 
its  splendid  site  it  is  unnecessary  to  speak,  every 
body  having  either  seen  it  or  read  of  it,  and  yet 
how  tame  seem  all  descriptions,  when,  standing 
upon  the  ramparts,  one  tries  to  take  in  at  a  glance 
the  splendid  panorama  before  him.  Every  inch  of 
ground  is  historical,  and  imagination  runs  riot  as 
you  look  at  the  spot  where  the  gallant  Burr  bore  off 
from  the  enemy  the  dead  body  of  the  brave  Mont 
gomery,  or  gaze  at  the  monuments  erected  to  Wolfe 
and  Montcalm.  The  sentinels,  pacing  up  and  down 


My  Journey  to   Quebec.  207 

with  their  measured  tread,  aid  in  keeping  up  the 
illusion  ;  and  as  the  wind  whistles  past,  you  start  in 
voluntarily,  as  if  expecting  a  shower  of  bullets  past 
your  ears.  And  speaking  of  bullets,  the  little  ur 
chins  who  lie  perdu  on  the  battle-field,  watching  for 
unwary  travellers,  have  an  inexhaustible  stock  of 
them,  which  they  assure  you,  with  precociously 
grave  faces,  funny  to  see,  were  "  actually  found 
there,"  with  their  wan,  dirty  little  paws ;  also  they 
exhibit  some  shining  little  pebbles,  baptized  by 
them  "  diamonds,"  all  of  which  we  of  course 
pocketed,  and  paid  for,  as  if  there  were  no  humbug 
in  the  little  speculators;  bigger  boys  than  they 
have  told  worse  fibs  in  the  same  line  of  business — 
poor  little  Barnums  ! 

The  most  unimaginative  person  could  easily  fancy 
himself  in  a  foreign  country  in  Quebec.  The  mot 
ley  population — the  long,  black-robed  priests,  serv 
ing  as  a  foil  to  the  scarlet  coats  of  the  officers,  and 
the  white  uniform  worn  by  the  band ;  the  loose- 
trousered,  rolling  sailors;  the  Frenchy,  peasant- 
looking  country  people,  driving  into  market  with 
their  produce  in  the  most  ancient  of  lumbering-look 
ing  vehicles,  with  bright  red  raspberries,  in  shining 
little  birch-bark  baskets.  The  Healthy-looking 
female  Quebec-ites,  with  their  fanciful  dark  straw 
hats,  with  a  fall  of  black  lace  about  their  rosy  faces, 
wonderfully  enhancing  the  brightness  of  bright  eyes, 
and  making  even  dull  ones,  if  any  such  there  are, 
look  coquettish  under  this  pretty  head-dress,  so 
much  more  comfortable  than  our  little  minikin  bon- 


208  My  Journey  to  Quebec. 

nets,  and  worn  alike  by  mothers  and  daughters. 
Their  dresses  almost  even  with  their  ankles,  and 
little  or  no"  crinoline,  but  such  healthy,  rosy  faces, 
such  luxuriant  locks,  and  the  universal  little  band 
of  black  velvet  round  the  throat,  of  which  the 
French  women  are  so  fond.  I  am  sure  I  did  not 
see  an  ugly  woman  in  Quebec,  nor  one  that,  to  my 
eye,  was  not  sensibly  and  prettily  habited,  and  such 
little  fat  loves  of  children,  chattering  French  with 
their  nurses.  The  people  were  as  picturesque  as 
the  place,  and  nobody  scrutinized  you  as  they  do  in 
New  York,  fixing  a  stony  stare  upon  you  (I  speak  of 
the  New  York  women),  till  they  have  found  out 
everything  you  have  on,  how  it  is  made  and 
trimmed,  and  then  comment  upon  the  same  to  their 
next  elbow  neighbor.  Every  healthy  and  con 
tented-looking  female  soul  of  them  seemed  to  have 
business  of  their  own,  and  to  mind  it.  Now  and 
then,  to  be  sure,  an  officer  or  a  private  would  take  a 
look  in  passing,  and  sometimes  we  heard  them  say 
"  Anglice,"  and  that  is  where  they  did  not  hit  it,  at 
least  with  the  ladies  of  the  party,  spite  of  light  hair 
and  eyes.  A  gentleman  at  the  hotel  where  we 
stayed,  said,  "  Those  ladies  are  English,"  looking  at 
myself  and  daughter.  English !  when  we  talked 
and  laughed,  ate  and  drank,  got  up  and  sat  down, 
without  ever  once  looking  into  a  book  of  etiquette 
to  see  if  it  was  "  proper !  " 

A  drive,  which  I  shall  long  remember,  we  took  to 
a  little  French  village  just  out  of  Quebec.  I  had 
always  thought — shade  of  Napoleon,  forgive  me — 


My  Journey  to  Quebec.  209 

that  the  peasant  French  were  an  unthrifty,  unneat 
people.  My  delight  was  unbounded  at  their  rows 
of  neat  little  white-washed  cottages,  standing  so 
ciably  and  cosily  together,  with  long  strips  of  farms 
extending  back ;  not  an  unsightly  object  about 
them ;  clean,  white-muslin  window-curtains,  with 
pretty  pots  of  bright,  flowering  plants  at  the  case 
ments  ;  rosy  little  children,  with  their  bright  red 
stockings — how  I  like  to  see  a  little  child  in  red 
stockings — and  clean,  white  aprons,  and  shiny  hair, 
sitting  on  the  door-step  with  the  family  Towser,  or 
running  after  the  carriage,  with  bunches  of  flowers 
for  "  the  English  ladies,"  as  they  persisted  in  calling 
us,  keeping  up  with  our  horses  with  a  pertinacity 
which  would  have  drawn  out  the  pennies  were  we 
less  favorably  inclined  ;  and  gay  little  bouquets  they 
gave  us,  too — roses  just  in  bloom  (for  their  sum 
mers  are  late  and  fleeting),  and  pretty  pinks  and 
geranium  leaves.  In  the  fields,  women  and  girls 
were  raking  hay,  with  broad  straw  hats,  which  they 
pushed  back  from  their  brown  faces,  as  they  leaned 
on  their  rakes  to  look  as  we  passed,  quite  uncon 
scious  how  pretty  they  looked,  helping  their  stout, 
healthy-looking  brothers,  who,  with  strong,  white 
teeth,  and  curly  hair,  laughed  merrily  as  they  tossed 
the  hay  about.  And  yet  this,  like  all  pictures,  had 
its  shadow,  for  /  saw,  though  they  did  not,  the  pale 
procession  of  half-paid  sewing  girls  coming  up 
Nassau  and  Chatham  streets,  in  New  York,  at  that 
very  moment,  home  to  some  stifled  attic,  or  perhaps 
some  more  noisome  place,  of  which  those  Canadians, 
14 


210  My  Journey  to  Quebec. 

in  their  pure  country  seclusion,  could  not  even 
dream.  How  I  wished  they  were  all  in  those 
sweet  hayfields,  breathing  that  pure,  untainted  air ! 
Oh,  it  was  a  delicious  picture;  I  could  have 
looked  at  it  forever ;  and  at  every  turn  in  the  road 
some  lovely  view  enchanted  us — some  new  blending 
of  sea  and  sky,  wood  and  valley,  and  each  perfect 
of  its  kind ;  and  so  we  came  at  last  to  the  famous 
Falls  of  "  Montmorenci,"  where  we  were  to  have 
twenty-five  cents'  worth  of  a  miniature  Niagara, 
with  root-beer  and  sponge-cake  "to  suit,"  for  an 
additional  fee ;  and  truly  they  might  have  been 
more  extortionate  as  far  as  the  Falls  were  con 
cerned,  were  it  not  such  a  damper  to  sentiment  to 
pay  for  one's  ecstasy  by  the  shilling.  Beautiful  were 
the  Falls,  tumbling,  dashing,  and  foaming  down  in 
to  their  rocky  bed  beneath,  where  were  patches 
of  velvet  moss,  of  as  vivid  a  green  as  your  foot  ever 
sank  in  while  wandering  in  the  cool,  fragrant 
woods.  Of  course  we  were  pointed  to  the  remains 
of  the  "  suspension  bridge,"  which,  about  four  years 
ago,  broke  so  treacherously  over  the  Falls,  precipi 
tating  a  whole  family  to  instant  death  in  the  boiling 
torrent  below.  A  great,  hungry  monster  it  looked 
to  us  after  that,  as  we  went  shuddering  up  the  steep 
steps  to  sunlight  and  safety,  after  viewing  it  from 
below.  "Not  one  of  them  was  ever  heard  of,  I 
suppose  ? "  said  I  to  our  boy  guide.  "  Not  one, 
ma'am,"  replied  my  juvenile  oracle,  with  a  solemn 
sniffle  that  would  have  done  credit  to  a  camp-meet- 


My  Journey  to  Quebec.  211 

Oh,  these  early  breakfasts  in  "  banquet  halls  de 
serted  "  of  huge  hotels,  waited  upon  by  yawning  ser 
vants  scarce  awake ;  no  appetite  for  the  food  you  know 
you  will  be  dying  for  five  or  six  hours  afterwards ; 
meanwhile,  conscious  only  of  an  intense  and  unmiti 
gated  disgust  for  big  trunks,  little  trunks,  bonnet- 
boxes,  keys,  carpet-bags,  and  reticules.  The  morn 
ing  foggy  and  chill ;  the  hotel  parlor,  so  pleasant 
the  evening  before,  as  you  sat  upon  its  comfortable 
sofa  with  a  party  of  friends  looking  now  quite  as 
miserable  as  you  feel,  with  its  gay  bouquets  of  yes 
terday  drooping  and  faded.  Blue-looking  men 
emerging  from  the  bar-room,  twisting  their  travel 
ling-shawls,  in  folds  more  warm  than  graceful,  over 
their  chests  and  shoulders ;  ladies  shivering  as  the 
chill  morning  air  strikes  their  but  half-protected, 
shrinking  figures.  "  All  ready "  at  last,  and  away 
we  start  for  Portland.  Yet,  stay;  what's  this? 
Heaven  bless  that  ebony  waiter,  who,  running  after 
me,  slid  into  my  hand  a  cold  chicken,  with  a  little 
package  of  salt  inclosed,  and  with  an  indescribable 
twist  of  his  good-natured,  shiny  phiz,  whispers, 
"  Ladies  gets  so  hungry  on  railroads,  ma'am ! " 
Now  that's  what  I  call  a  compliment,  and  a  substan 
tial  one,  too ;  he  should  have  seen  me  a  few  hours 
after  with  one  of  the  drumsticks,  bless  his  soul. 
May  he  meet  some  appreciative  Dinah,  and  may  they 
never  want  for  a  chicken  ! 

Rain,  rain,  rain  all  day,  in  the  most  pitiless  man 
ner.  Some  solace  themselves  with  newspapers, 
some  with  novels,  and  some  with  sleep;  the  latter 


212  My  Journey  to  Quebec. 

sure  to  be  broken  in  upon  by  the  conductor's  nudge, 
and  "  your  ticket,  sir ! "  Directly  in  front  of  me 
sat  two  young  men,  strangers  to  each  other,  who 
presently  finding  one  of  those  convenient  pretexts 
for  speaking  which  travel  always  affords,  com 
menced  conversation.  Imagine  how  long  those  two 
fellows  kept  it  up  without  stopping  to  wink,  or  even 
to  look  at  the  "  way-stations  "  !  Sixty-five  miles  ! — 
I  repeat  it — sixty-five  miles!  Wouldn't  the  fact 
have  been  published  from  Dan  to  Beersheba,  had 
the  conversationists  happened  to  have  been  a  couple 
of  women  ?  And  by  the  help  of  the  limitless  NEW 
YORK  LEDGER,  I'll  send  it  thus  far.  Mostly,  these 
young  men  appeared  to  pity  the  Canadian  nuns, 
whom  they  seemed  to  have  philanthropic  desires  to 
benefit,  without  the  opportunity.  Then  the  vexed 
question  of  North  and  South  was  discussed,  that 
grindstone  upon  which  every  youngster  must  needs 
whet  his  jack-knife.  But  time  would  fail  to  tell 
all  the  nonsense  I  was  forced,  in  the  next  seat,  to 
hear,  far  transcending  that  of  women,  which,  the 
saints  know,  is  ofttimes  bad  enough. 

Well,  we  lived  through  that  day's  drizzle  and 
rain,  and  reached  Portland  in  a  most  limp  condition, 
just  at  night.  Curious  to  be  again  in  a  birthplace 
which  I  left  when  I  was  but  six  weeks  old !  "  If 
the  sun  will  only  shine  out  to-morrow,"  said  I,  as  I 
cuddled  under  the  blankets  with  horrible  forebod 
ings.  The  fates  were  propitious.  A  warm,  lovely 
morning ;  every  tree  and  shrub  newly  polished,  and 
as  fresh  as  if  just  made.  Within  range  of  my  win- 


My  Journey  to  Quebec.  213 

dow  was  a  beautiful  garden,  gay  as  a  rainbow  with 
all  sorts  of  brilliant  flowers.  Two  Quakers  came 
along  in  solemn  drab.  I  smiled  and  held  my  breath. 
"Thank  God,"  said  I,  as  I  saw  them  lean  delightedly 
over  the  fence  to  look  at  the  gay  flowers,  "  nature  is, 
and  ever  will  be,  stronger  than  creeds."  A  hasty 
breakfast,  and  forth  I  started  on  my  exploring  tour. 
"  I  shall  know  the  house  where  I  was  born,  if  I  pass 
it,"  said  I;  "some  magnetic  influence  will  surely 
arrest  my  steps.  Stay,  that  is  Dr.  Payson's  church." 
"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  asked  my  companions.  "  I 
feel  it ;  ask  and  see."  And  so  it  was.  He  who,  by 
his  sweet,  consistent,  loving,  holy  life,  came  between 
me  and  the  grim  creed  which  my  very  soul  spurned, 
and  which  was  driving  me  to  disbelieve  all  of  which 
his  Christ-like  life  was  the  beautiful  exponent.  He 
who  laid  holy  hands  of  blessing  on  my  baby- 
forehead,  and  knew  God's  creatures  too  well  to  try 
to  drive  them,  through  fear  of  endless  torment,  to 
heaven.  I  felt  like  crossing  myself,  as  I  passed  the 
church  where  his  feet  had  so  often  entered,  to  tell, 
in  that  most  musical  of  voices,  of  God's  infinite  love 
to  everything  He  had  made — of  God's  infinite  pity- 
but  why  attempt  to  convey  an  idea  of  what  must 
have  been  heard  to  be  understood  and  felt  ?  Hun 
dreds  whom  man's  denunciatory  self-righteousness 
had  driven  to  cursing,  bitterness,  and  despair,  are 
now  stars  in  his  crown. 

Well,  I  passed  on  through  the  lovely  streets  of  my 
native  city,  with  their  green  hedges  and  climbing 
plants,  and  bright  flowers,  and  stately  trees,  and 


214  My  Journey  to  Quebec. 

most  substantial,  palatial  stone  houses,  with,  shining 
window-panes  and  massive  entrances.  Not  there, 
not  there,  said  I ;  it  must  have  been  in  some  small 
wooden  house,  with  an  inch  or  two  of  ground,  and 
perhaps  a  few  flowers  that  needed  little  care,  for 
those  were  humble  days  to  her  who,  taking  the 
baby-boy  (poet  that  was  to  be)  in  her  arms,  went 
daily  to  nurse  him  in  the  jail  where  his  father  was 
confined.  She  who,  if  there  is  a  heaven  of  bliss,  is 
in  it  to-day,  as  one  of  those  earth-martyrs  whose 
mask  of  heavenly  serenity  a  short-sighted  world 
never  pierces.  No,  I  feel  no  throb  at  my  heart 
when  looking  at  these  grand  houses.  Sure  I  am,  it 
was  not  there  that  the  baby  was  baptized,  whose  lit 
tle  grave-clothes  were  well  nigh  bespoken.  It  was 
not  there  that  the  little  face  purpled  with  what  they 
said  was  the  death-agony.  Would  to  God  it  had 
pleased  Him  to  make  it  so.  It  was  not  there  that 
the  little  life  began,  from  which  that  baby  might 
well  struggle  to  escape.  And  so,  wearily  my  feet 
passed  up  and  down  one  lovely  street  after  another, 
admiring  all,  yet  not  drawn  magnetically  to  any. 
Somewhere — let  it  suffice — in  that  lovely,  leafy  city, 
with  its  grand  old  drooping  elms,  and  glimpses  of 
the  broad,  blue  sea,  I  first  opened  eyes  that  will  close 
far  enough  away  from  its  Sabbath  stillness  and 
quiet. 


IDLE   HOURS  AT    OUR    OWN  EMER 
ALD  ISLE,  THE  GEM  OF  THE  SEA. 


ON'T  you  wish  you  were  here  in  Newport 
with  me  ?  the  broad,  blue  ocean  in  front  of 
your  window,  and  the  crisp  sea-breeze  send 
ing  fresh  life  through  every  vein  ?  For  a  while  we 
shall  have  Newport  mostly  to  ourselves,  as  at  this 
present  writing  Fashion  still  lingers  in  the  city, 
searching  for  dry-goods  to  do  this  lovely  spot  fitting 
honor,  according  to  their  idea  of  the  same.  Mean 
time  we  look  at  their  lovely  gardens  and  velvety 
lawns,  adorned  like  a  bride  for  her  expectant 
spouse,  and  bewitching,  with  their  flowery  contrasts 
of  vivid  color,  beyond  any  words  I  can  find  to  ex 
press  them.  Hanging  baskets  of  ivy  and  scarlet 
geranium,  swinging  like  the  censers  of  the  Catholic 
churches,  and  diffusing  incense  as  we  pass.  Now 
and  then  some  little  white-robed  child  springs  out 
upon  a  door-step,  with  a  frame  of  vine  leaves  above 
her  lovely,  unconscious  head,  and  the  picture  is 
complete.  She  will  never,  in  after  years,  have  a 
more  fervent  worshipper  at  her  feet  than  I,  at  that 
moment.  Turn  where  you  will  in  Newport,  all  is 
beauty.  If  you  weary  of  the  finish  and  elegance  of 
these  beautiful  villas,  there  is  the  rocky  shore, 


216  Idle  Hours. 

where  the  sea  dashes  with  tireless  vigor ;  or  you  can 
contemplate  the  bay  that  lies  sparkling  in  the  sun 
light  ;  or  you  can  walk  or  ride  in  the  many  lovely 
roads  which  give  wonderfully  beautiful  glimpses  of 
both,  and  are  as  much  "  country  "  in  their  leafy  and 
quiet  seclusion,  as  if  Fashion  were  exiled  to  the 
North  Pole,  instead  of  the  distance  of  a  mile  or  so. 
Then,  if  you  are  book-y,  there  are  the  well-stocked 
libraries  of  the  place ;  and  for  ladies  whose  shopping 
propensities  no  raging  dog-star  allays  or  hinders, 
stores,  where  New  York  and  other  cities  have  freely 
poured  out  their  knicknacks,  in  the  shape  of  ribbons, 
dress  goods,  laces,  and — dearer  than  all — "  embroi 
dery  worsted  !  " 

Think  of  the  blasphemy  of  using  this  last, 
when  nature  has  so  far  outri vailed  them !  I  wonder 
they  are  not  afraid  of  being  struck  with  lightning 
for  such  presumption.  But  nobody  knows  the  co 
quetry  lurking  in  a  skein  of  bright  worsted,  held  in 
lily,  diamond-decked  fingers,  in  the  corner  of  a  vine- 
wreathed  piazza.  I  declare  that  I  will  turn  "  state's 
evidence,"  and  expose  it.  Blue  worsted  now,  in  the 
hands  of  a  sunny-haired,  white-robed  blonde ;  crim 
son  or  yellow  on  the  lap  of  a  dark-haired  brunette  ! 
And  you,  simple  Theodore  or  Frank,  never  dream 
ing  that  these  effects  are  studied  with  the  nicest 
diplomatic  skill  by  these  "  artless "  creatures  at 
whose  feet  you  are  willing  slaves.  Whatsoever  you 
do,  don't  offer  to  hold  one  of  those  skeins  for  wind 
ing.  That  brings  heads,  and  fingers,  too,  together 
in  a  manner — well,  don't  you  do  it,  that's  all.  Offer 


Idle  Hours.  217 

to  kill  caterpillars,  if  you  will,  or  rose-bugs ;  that's 
a  safe  employment;  but  in  this  worsted  business, 
take  my  word  for  it,  you  will  be  sure  to  get  worsted 
yourself.  It  is  quite  safe,  however,  for  you  to  drive 
with  them,  if  they  invite  you,  in  those  cunning  little 
phaetons  with  the  footman  at  your  back,  because 
flirting  in  that  case  is  under  difficulties,  not  easily 
conquered  unless  you  lose  him  off  upon  the  road. 
Meantime  Newport  remains  the  gem  of  summer 
seaside  resorts,  combining,  as  it  does,  society  or  se 
clusion  at  your  pleasure,  and  city  and  country,  with 
all  the  advantages  of  both. 

If  you  only  knew  the  delicious  laziness  that  has 
taken  possession  of  me  this  bird-singing  morning, 
you  wouldn't  poke  me  up  to  write.  A  soft  mist 
half  veils  the  ocean,  so  turbulent  last  night,  and 
butterflies  in  pairs  are  wooing,  now  in  the  vines 
about  my  window,  then  darting  out  into  the  bright 
meadows  for  a  longer  flight.  I  am  fascinated  with 
the  graceful  circles  they  make.  I  am  fascinated  with 
that  old  cow,  too  indolent  even  to  whisk  the  flies  off 
her  back,  standing  as  she  has  stood  for  an  hour 
under  that  big  tree.  I  love  to  see  the  pretty  maid 
ens,  with  their  fresh  young  faces  and  saucy  little 
hats,  driving  their  cunning  ponies  past  my  window. 
Now  and  then  comes  borne  to  my  ear  by  this  soft 
west  wind  a  child's  silvery  laugh,  as  musical  as  the 
ripple  of  a  brook.  I  am  away,  thank  Heaven,  from 
"  riots "  and  murder,  save  in  the  chicken  line  ;  and 
I  hope  nobody  will  debate  "  female  suffrage  "  with 
me  to-day,  or  ask  my  opinion  on  anything,  save  the 


218  Idle  Hours. 

heavenliness  of  this  beautiful  Newport,  where  the. 
daily  delightful  surprises  of  Nature,  by  laud  and 
ocean,  keep  me  in  a  constant  state  of  beatitude. 
Now  and  then  I  get  wroth  with  the  over-dressed 
dames,  who  evidently  have  no  eyes  for  it,  or  appre 
ciation  of  it,  save  to  strike  attitudes  on  the  soft  green 
lawn,  or  lounge  elegantly  in  the  fashionable  drive, 
with  poodle  and  baby  and  husband  and  carriage  robe, 
arranged  like  a  tableau  to  be  gazed  at ;  never  driv 
ing  where  it  is  dusty,  for  fear  of  the  sacred  dry- 
goods,  though  Nature  woo  ever  so  sweetly.  Talk 
of  the  "  laboring  classes  "  !  The  amount  of  "  labor  " 
these  women  will  take  upon  themselves  in  the  lan 
guid  summer  days  is  past  my  computation.  I  en 
countered  one  in  a  shop  here  the  other  day,  trailing 
after  her,  at  eleven  in  the  morning,  a  wonderful 
length  of  silk  robe,  and  wringing  her  tightly  kidded 
fingers  because  a  particular  kind  of  ribbon  was  not 
to  be  had,  and  with  a  gesture  of  despair  exclaiming, 
"  I  must  telegraph  instantly  to  New  York  for  it." 
Poor  thing!  I  say  poor  advisedly.  I  had  rather 
be  the  barefooted,  blithe  little  girl  who  drives  the 
cows  home,  if  I  had  to  make  my  choice.  What  is 
woman  without  a  shop  ?  Storekeepers  here  act  on 
this  principle,  and  spread  their  lures  accordingly. 
Not  that  ladies  go  to  buy  always,  but  it  is  a  sort  of 
Exchange,  where  their  toilets  can  be  displayed,  as 
well  as  a  neat  ankle,  while  alighting  from  a  gay 
carriage  at  the  door. 

I  think  there  are  more  Stars  in  Newport  than  in 
any  other  place.     There  was  a  wonderful  profusion 


Idle  Hours.  219 

out  last  evening.  Not  literary  stars — though  New 
port  is  full  of  them  too,  if  the  crazy  kind  of  ab 
stracted,  author  look  is  any  indication.  Flowing 
hair  upon  the  coat  collar,  and  a  scarlet  bit  of  neck 
tie,  and  general  sauciness  of  dress  and  demeanor, 
are  generally  indicative  of  an  artist,  /find  no  fault. 
Give  us  individuality,  or  give  us  death.  This  world 
would  be  a  sorry  place  without  it.  There  are  worse 
people  than  "  queer  people  "  about.  The  queerest 
I  ever  met,  was  a  woman  who  prided  herself  on  her 
surpassing  ugliness,  and  dressed  up  to  the  character, 
selecting  always  those  colors  which  intensified  it. 
I  am  happy  to  state  that  her  husband  was  a  match 
for  her  in  this  respect.  But  so  witty  was  she,  that 
no  young  beauty  at  the  hotel  had  so  many  followers 
and  admirers.  I  really  think  she  enjoyed  her  own 
hideousness.  After  hearing  her  witticisms,  you 
would  go  your  way  and  remember  it  no  more,  or  if 
so,  only  to  admire  the  wisdom  of  her  conquest  over 
it. 

Yes,  I  am  idle  here.  But  that  reminds  me — is 
anything  more  diverting  than  the  advice  so  lavishly 
tendered  to  women  as  to  the  "  best  mode  of  passing 
their  time  in  the  country,  during  the  summer 
months"? 

One  writer  recommends  that  "  they  should  take 
up  the  study  of  a  new  language."  That  sounds 
well ;  but  suppose  a  lady  to  have  been  a  teacher  all 
the  rest  of  the  year?  This  would  scarcely  be  an 
exhilarating,  restful  occupation.  Another  wonders 
that  "  some  one  lady  .does  not  read  aloud  to  a  group 


220  Idle  Hours. 

cf  lady  friends."  That  sounds  well  too  ;  but  some 
ladies  like  history,  others  biography ;  many,  indis 
criminate  novels.  Then  how  few,  even  among  so- 
called  "  educated "  ladies,  read  well,  or,  reading 
well,  have  power  to  read  aloud  for  any  length  of 
time ;  or,  these  points  being  favorable,  can  bring 
the  other  women  to  a  focus  as  to  the  hour  agreed 
upon,  or  keep  them  at  it,  when  they  get  them  there, 
without  frequent  yawning,  unless,  indeed,  a  gentle 
man  be  included  in  the  party  !  Some,  again,  pro 
pose  "  botany  "  to  them ;  and  there  are  ladies  who, 
preferring  health  to  dry-goods,  carry  out  this  advice 
successfully.  As  to  the  study  of  botany,  for  one,  I 
would  rather  call  fox-glove  fox-glove,  than  to  call  it 
fox  a  borondibus  ora  ylorihundus  !  but  then  that  is 
a  matter  of  taste  and  breath.  I  should  be  much 
more  likely  also  to  look  at  its  shape  and  coloring, 
than  to  search  the  encyclopaedia  for  its  horticultural 
baptism.  But  then,  as  an  eminent  biographer  is  apt 
to  remark  to  me  fifty  times  a  day,  "  That's  a  pecu 
liarity  of  yours,  Fanny."  Who  said  it  wasn't? 
Haven't  I  a  right  to  my  peculiarities,  as  has  a  tree 
to  its  shape  and  foliage,  and  blossoms  and  fruit? 
And  while  we  are  in  the  leafy  line,  why  isn't  a  Fern 
as  good  as  any  other  kind  of  grass  ?  I've  seen  pretty 
tall  ferns  in  my  day,  especially  up  the  Shaker  road, 
a  little  out  of  Stockbridge,  Mass.,  where,  I  have  no 
doubt,  they  are  waving  in  plumy  luxuriance  at  this 
very  minute. 

This  is  a  digression  ;  but  you  would  digress  too, 


Idle  Hours.  221 

had  you  ever  ridden  that  road  of  a  bright  summer 
day. 

To  return  to  my  subject.  Wholesale  giving  of 
advice,  on  this  or  any  other  point,  is  like  administer 
ing  medicine ;  none  but  quacks  give  it  without  con 
sidering  constitutional  tendencies,  as  well  as  the  age 
and  daily  habits  of  the  patient.  Unfortunately, 
with  advice-givers  these  points  are  generally  ignored : 
one  and  the  same  pill  being  supposed  remedial  for 
all  times,  seasons,  and  complaints,  especially  where 
women  are  concerned,  who  really  need  more  classi 
fying  than  any  big  lump  of  men  who  were  ever 
thrown  together — such  infinite  variety  and  delicate 
shading  is  there  in  their  mental,  moral,  and  physical 
make-up.  But  of  this,  man  is  either  wilfully  or  in 
differently  ignorant,  since  he  never  mentions  the 
subject  without  committing  egregious  blunders. 

I  never  hear  a  man  remark,  "  you  women  !  "  that 
1  don't  mentally  send  him  "  to  the  foot  of  the  class" 

"  You  women  ! "  Why,  a  man  may  live  with  even 
one  woman  all  his  life,  and  yet  really  know  no  more 
about  her,  than  I  do  why  men  were  born  at  all.  I 
heard  a  husband  once  deplore  that,  being  ignorant 
of  the  French  language,  he  could  not  know  the 
meaning  of  a  sentence  in  the  book  he  was  reading*. 

O  O 

"Give  it  to  me,"  replied  his  wife,  immediately 
translating  it.  "Why,"  exclaimed  he,  in  astonish 
ment,  "I  never  knew  you  understood  French!" 
And  yet  he  had  lived  with  her  fifteen  years.  It  is 
just  so  with  other  and  still  more  important  knowl 
edge  'of  a  wife.  Now  I  ask  you,  Mr.  BONNER,  when 


222  Idle  Hours. 

you  choose  a  horse,  if  you  do  not  first  find  out  what 
that  horse  can  do,  especially  how  fast  he  can  trot 
without  damage  ? — which,  by  the  way,  is  the  last 
question  a  married  man  thinks  of  asking  about  his 
wife. 

Well,  isn't  a  wife  quite  as  important  an  animal  as 
a  horse  ?  I  would  like  to  see  Dexter  put  to  dragging 
stones  on  the  highway,  or  Pocahontas  to  rotary  saw 
ing  of  wood  at  a  railway  station ! 

O  «- 

And  yet  thousands  of  men  all  over  the  country 
make  stupider  blunders  than  these  about  their  wives, 
every  day  in  the  year,  partly,  as  I  say,  through  ig 
norance,  which  of  course  is  culpable,  and  partly 
through  indifference. 

Many  women,  if  they  were  half  as  judiciously 
managed,  as  to  their  physical  needs  and  possible  ca 
pabilities,  as  are  horses,  would  be  worth  much  more 
to  their  owners;  and  I  am  sure  I  have  seen  men  to 
whom  this  argument  would  be  the  only  one  they 
would  think  worth  listening  to.  Also,  in  all  fair 
ness,  I  should  add,  that  I  have  seen  others  who  re 
membered  it  first  and  alwavs. 


SOME  CITY  SIGHTS. 


than  in  any  other  locality  does  a  fu 
neral  passing  through  Broadway  seem  im 
pressive  to  me.  There,  while  life  is  at  the 
flood,  and  thousands  pass  and  repass  you  whose 
faces  you  do  not  recognize,  save  by  the  universal 
stamp  of  eagerness  and  bustle  and  hurry,  as  if  the 
goal  in  the  distance  which  they  aim  at  was  for  eter 
nity  and  not  for  fleeting  time ;  there,  where  bright 
eyes  shine  brightest,  and  silken  locks  and  silken 
dresses ' shimmer  fairest  in  the  dancing  sunbeams; 
there,  where  all  nations,  all  interests  are  represented? 
and  the  panorama  never  halts,  day  or  night,  but 
only  substitutes  one  set  of  moving  figures  for  an 
other  ;  there,  indeed,  does  Death  seem  Death  when 
it  glides  stealthily  in  among  the  busy,  surging  crowd. 
Once,  walking  there  on  a  bright  sunny  day,  I  met 
four  pall-bearers,  slowly  bearing  a  coffin  covered 
with  black,  with  the  clergyman  in  his  gown  and 
bands,  and  the  mourners  following.  Instinctively 
the  gay  crowd  parted  upon  the  sidewalk,  the  men 
standing  with  uncovered  heads ;  the  laugh  died  upon 
the  lips  of  the  young  girl ;  the  little  children  looked 
on,  wondering  and  awe-struck.  Even  she  over 
whose  own  grave  no  loving  tear  might  ever  fall, 
bowed  her  defiant  head,  and  for  one  brief  moment 


224  Some  City  Sights. 

faced  that  terrible  thought.  And  so  the  slow  pro 
cession  passed,  though  no  one  knew  who  slept  so 
quietly  amid  all  that  din  and  noise;  but  knowing 
only  that  some  heart,  some  home  was  desolate.  Then 
the  eager  crowd  closed  in  again,  and  new  faces 
passed  smilingly,  new  forms  stepped  gayly,  smart 
equipages  dashed  by,  and  the  jest  and  the  laugh  fell 
again  upon  my  ear  as  before,  while  I  seemed  to 
move  as  one  in  a  dream. 

Once  again,  but  in  the  country,  fragrant  with 
blossoms,  and  sweet  with  the  song  of  birds  and  the 
murmured  whisper  of  leaves,  just  such  a  sombre 
procession  crossed  the  green  fields,  under  the  blue 
sky,  with  its  quiet  burden.  It  is  long  years  since 
I  witnessed  both ;  but  they  stand  out  in  my  memory, 
each  as  distinctly  as  if  it  were  but  yesterday.  I 
don't  know  which  was  the  more  impressive.  I  only 
know  that  when  I  looked  upon  the  latter,  I  said  to 
myself,  when  life's  fret  is  over,  just  so  would  /be 
carried  to  my  last  rest. 

One  of  the  prettiest  sights  to  be  seen  in  the  early 
morning  is  that  of  the  little  girls  going  to  school. 
1  like  them  best  of  a  rainy  day,  because  then  their 
sweet  little  faces  beam  from  out  little  close  hoods, 
drawn  about  their  red  cheeks;  and  their  little  fat 
calves  have  such  a  tussle  with  the  wind  as  they  try 
to  get  round  gusty  corners ;  so  that  what  with  bat 
tling  with  their  sandwich-boxes,  and  what  with  their 
geographies,  their  gleaming  white  teeth  make  a  very 
lovely  show  between  their  rosy  lips.  What  police 
man,  with  the  heart  of  a  father,  but  would  rather 


Some  City  Sights.  225 

help  a  flock  of  these  pretty  birds  across  the  street 
than  a  bevy  of  paniered  ladies  who  shrink  from 
their  touch,  all  the  while  they  are  ready  to  scream 
with  fright  if  they  are  not  taken  by  the  arm. 

Commend  me  to  the  little  girls  of  six,  eight,  and 
twelve,  who,  not  yet  having  come  to  their  wicked 
ness,  squeal  out  with  delicious  frankness,  "  Mr.  Po 
liceman  !  Mr.  Policeman !  please  come  carry  me 
over  the  street."  And  so  they  swarm  round  him 
like  a  cloud  of  bees  till  they  are  all  safely  landed  on 
the  other  side. 

Bless  their  little  innocent  faces !  It  is  as  good  as 
a  chapter  of  the  Bible  to  any  policeman,  to  see  such 
sweet  white  lilies  blossoming  amid  the  physical  and 
moral  filth  w^hich  they  meet  in  their  rounds  in  the 
New  York  streets." 

As  it  is  rather  an  exception  to  find  a  little  school- 
Jo?/  who  is  not  either  a  little  saintly  prig  or  a  little 
well-dressed  rufiian  and  bully,  I  have  not  contem 
plated  their  goings  and  comings  with  the  same  satis 
faction  as  I  do  that  of  their  little  sisters;  though 
why  a  little  ~boy  shouldn't  be  as  well-mannered  as  a 
little  girl  I  have  always  been  at  a  loss  to  know. 

One  is  occasionally  an  eye-witness  to  scenes  in 
New  York  which  momentarily  paralyze  one's  faith 
in  humanity,  I  had  almost  said  in  God.  One  lovely 
afternoon  of  last  week  I  determined  to  try  the  drive 
by  the  "  new  Hudson  River  road  to  Fort  Lee,"  which, 
by  the  way,  I  rapturously  commend,  en  passant, 
to  every  New  Yorker,  and  stranger  within  our  gates 
who  is  fond  of  beautiful  scenery.  On  the  way  we 
15 


226  Some  City  Sights. 

alighted,  and  entered  one  of  the  numerous  rural 
gardens,  to  enjoy  from  thence  a  fine  view  of  the 
river.  Immediately  our  attention  was  arrested  by 
loud  voices ;  among  which  we  distinguished  that  of 
a  woman,  now  in  loud,  angry  tones,  then  soft  and 
pleading,  as  if  deprecating  personal  violence.  "  Pay 
up,  then,"  vociferated  a  coarse,  masculine  voice,  as  a 
stout  man  appeared,  grasping  a  young  girl  of  eigh 
teen  or  twenty  by  the  wrist,  dressed  in  a  soiled 
tawdry  bonnet  and  silk  gown,  and  forcibly  ejected 
her  from  the  piazza  of  a  refreshment  room  into  the 
garden.  She  was  a  woman  and  young,  and  without 
understanding  her  offence,  his  brutality  roused  me ; 
but  my  blood  froze  in  my  veins,  when  gathering  up 
her  form  to  its  full  height,  raising  her  small  hand  in 
the  air,  and  flashing  her  dark  eyes,  she  cursed  him 
as  only  a  woman  can  curse  who  is  lost  for  this 
world  and  the  next.  And  men  stood  by  and  heard 
it,  who  had  mothers  and  sisters,  and  laughed,  and 
jeered,  and  maddened  her  already  excited  blood, 
for  sporty  to  fiercer  words  of  unwomanly  strife  !  A 
young  man  of  her  own  age,  who  appeared  to  have 
accompanied  her  there,  and  seemed  terrified  at  the 
turn  of  affairs,  stepped  to  her  side  ;  but  she  sprang 
upon  him  like  a  panther,  then  bounded  past  him, 
then  seized  a  garden  staol,  and  hurling  it  at  his 
head  with  blistering  curses,  ran  through  the  garden 
to  the  river.  For  the  first  time  I  found  voice  to 
say — Great  God — she  will  drown  herself !  and  be 
fore  the  words  were  out  of  my  mouth — a  leap — a 
splash — arid  she  had  disappeared.  A  boat  was  near, 


Some  City  Sights.  227 

into  which  two  men  jumped,  and  succeeded  with 
her  companion  in  catching  hold  of  her  dress,  after 
she  had  twice  sunk.  Pale,  gasping,  in  her  tawdry, 
dripping  finery,  she  was  dragged  on  shore.  One  of 
the  men  turning  to  her  companion  said,  "  another 
twenty-five  cents  due  for  fishing  her  out."  Then 
two  or  three  men — I  suppose  they  called  themselves 
men — took  her  under  the  arm-pits  with  her  face 
downward,  and  two  went  behind  and  seized  her  by 
the  heels,  her  drapery  falling  back  from  her  knees, 
while  other  men  of  the  same  stamp  walked  behind 
gazing  at  her  exposed  limbs.  Then  they  laid  her 
upon  a  garden  bench  with  her  white  face  upturned 
to  the  fair  sky,  and  stood  over  the  gasping,  sobbing 
creature,  with  less  feeling  than  they  would  gaze 
upon  a  maimed  horse  or  dog ;  her  dress,  torn 
from  her  neck,  revealing  to  their  beastly  gaze 
youth  and  beauty  which  God  never  made  for  this 
desecration. 

Oh !  could  I  by  a  word  have  summoned  the  ad 
vocates  of  Free  Love  to  that  spot — then  and  there 
would  I  have  given  them  my  dumb,  eloquent  an 
swer  to  their  nauseous,  hell-begotten  doctrines.  I 
would  have  summoned  thither  those  women  who 
have  lately  stood  up  in  public  as  champions  of  their 
sex's  "  rights  "  (Heaven  defend  us  from  their  polluted, 
polluting  tongues),  and  bade  them  look  upon  what 
they  must  know  to  be  the  inevitable  end  of  promis 
cuous  "affinity."  I  would  have  summoned  there 
those  men  of  position  in  the  community,  who  sit  in 
their  carpeted,  well-stocked  library,  and  in  full  view 


228  Some  City  Sights. 

of  their  household  gods— within  sound  of  the  inno 
cent  prattle  of  their  own  children — by  their  own 
yet  undesecrated  hearthstones — write  fine-spun  theo 
ries  upon  Free- Love,  claiming  for  its  brazen  female 
advocates  the  title  of  "  modest "  women  !  I  would 
have  summoned  thither  the  editors  of  those  respect 
able  daily  journals,  who  publish  in  their  columns 
the  sophistical  effusions  of  such  men,  and  bade  them, 
one  and  all,  look  upon  that  young,  gasping  girl,  and 
the  coarse  men  who  stood  by  and  jeered  at  her. 

As  I  turned  soul-sick  away,  I  saw  a  woman  stand 
ing  at  a  little  distance  with  an  infant  in  her  arms, 
her  face  white  with  fear.  As  she  gave  a  last  glance 
at  the  girl  she  pressed  her  babe  convulsively  to  her 
breast  and  covered  its  innocent  face  with  kisses. 
The  action  was  suggestive.  Alas,  just  so  must  that 
lost  young  girl's  mother  once  have  kissed  her  ! 


How  EASY  TO  SAY  " BE  CHEERFUL "! — "Be  cheer 
ful,"  says  the  man  who  is  easy  in  his  circumstances, 
missing  no  loved  face  at  the  table,  nor  by  the 
hearth.  But  does  he  ever  consider  how  hard  it  may 
be  to  be  "cheerful"  when  the  heart  aches,  and  the 
cupboard  is  empty,  and  there  are  little  fresh  graves 
in  the  church-yard,  and  friends  are  few  or  indiffer 
ent,  and  even  God,  for  the  time  being,  seems  to 
have  forgotten  us,  so  desolate  is  our  lot  ?  How  diffi 
cult  for  one  man  to  understand  another,  in  such 
different  circumstances !  How  easy  to  say,  "  Be 
cheerful !  "  How  hard  he  would  find  it  to  practise 
it,  were  he  stripped  of  all  life's  brightness  ! 


DOG-DATS  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS. 


'O  whomsoever  human  nature  is  a  pleasant 
study,  I  would  recommend  as  an  inviting 
field  a  summer  boarding-place.  Wood, 
rocks,  and  lakes  are  nothing  beside  human  nature. 
We  can  form  some  sort  of  an  idea  on  geological, 
aquarian,  and  other  principles,  why  they  exist.  We 
quite  indorse  the  Scriptural  statement  at  creation 
that  they  are  all  "  very  good."  But  I  am  puzzled 
to  know  why  a  woman  who  can  do  nothing  but  sim 
per  and  fold  her  hands  should  be  married  and  have 
children  without  number,  and  another  beneath  whose 
large  motherly  heart  no  little  one  ever  has  or  ever 
will  nestle,  should  go  mourning  all  her  days  on  ac 
count  of  it.  Why  a  man  whose  every  impulse  and 
feeling  and  purpose  are  unswervingly  in  the  right 
direction  should  have  an  empty  pocket ;  and  a  mean, 
narrow-minded,  ignorant,  miserable  apology  for  a 
man,  have  his  tight  fist  on  a  full  one.  Why  con 
sumptives  and  scrofulous  people  should  insist  on  in 
dustriously  increasing  the  census,  and  men  and 
women  made  physically  on  the  right  principles  per 
tinaciously  cling  to  celibacy.  Why  the  serving-maid 
should  have  more  womanliness,  intelligence,  and 
goodness,  than  the  mistress  whose  irate  voice  makes 


230        Dog-days  in  the  Mountains. 

her  tremble.  Why  the  clergyman  should  pay  such 
undeviating  attention  to  the  soul  of  his  child  that  he 
cannot  spare  time  to  see  that  his  body  at  twelve 
years  of  age  is  "standing  from  under."  Why  a 
man  marries  a  woman  merely  for  her  beauty,  and  is 
disgusted  in  two  weeks  that  she  has  not  turned  out 
an  intellectual  companion.  Why  a  good  man,  but 
not  an  intellectual  one,  marries  a  "  strong-minded 
woman,"  and  instantly  sets  about  teaching  her  that 
obedience  and  silence  are  the  first  duties  of  wives. 
Why  young  men  should  decline  marriage  on  the 
score  that  "  they  cannot  afford  it,"  when  they  spend 
more  than  would  support  a  family,  on  their  vices. 
Why  a  man  with  the  proportions  of  Hercules  should 
have  a  voice  like  a  squeaking  door-hinge,  and  a 
lovely  girl  deafen  you  every  time  she  opens  her 
rosebud  mouth.  In  short,  why,  when  men  and 
women  are  such  natural  curiosities — singly  or  in 
groups,  married  or  celibate — should  showmen,  at 
such  cost  of  outlay,  stock  their  premises  with  anacon 
das  and  giraffes,  when  their  fellow-critters  "  would 
be  so  rich  "  an  exhibition  ? 

But  think  as  long  and  as  industriously  as  I  may 
on  these  vexed  questions,  no  solution  comes.  I  turn 
them  over  to  some  philosopher  who  will  unravel  the 
skein  while  I  take  an  evening  sail  upon  the  lake. 
In  fact,  when  I  get  there,  I  don't  care  what  becomes 
of  my  kind  so  that  my  sunset  sail  is  not  denied  me. 
Nor  is  this  as  selfish  as  it  seems,  since  I  should  not 
be  safe  company  for  them  in  the  dog-days  without 
this  soothing  process.  Keep  close  to  the  shore  now, 


Dog-days  in  the  Mountains.         231 

oh,  boatman  :  and  above  all,  keep  silence.  Pickerel 
are  good  in  their  way,  but  bony ;  and  I  would  fain 
listen  dreamily  to  the  plashing  oar,  and  the  twit- 
twit  of  the  little  birds  as  they  seek  their  nests  in  the 
trees,  while  my  eye  rests  on  the  changing  clouds 
and  their  reflections  in  the  smooth  mirror  below. 
Yex  me  not  with  talk  of  "  dead  swells  "  and  "  white- 
caps."  I  would  sail  here  till  midnight  in  silence, 
and  thence  straight  into  the  other  world,  before  a 
ripple  of  earthly  fret  came  over  my  spirit. 

But  it  is  not  to  be.  One  of  our  party  "  wants  to 
pick  pond-lilies,"  slimy  and  smell-less ;  not  like  the 
dear  old  pond-lilies  in  Massachusetts,  though  mock 
ingly  like  in  form  and  color.  Another  is  yelling  at 
an  echo,  which  answers  back  as  persistently  as  if  it 
were  of  the  feminine  gender ;  but,  unlike  the  femi 
nine  gender,  always  agrees  colloquially.  Another 
pokes  me  up  from  my  reverie  to  know  "  why  I  am 
so  stupid  ? "  And  now  when  the  shadows  are  loveli 
est  and  the  moon  beginning  to  silver  the  lake,  the 
universal  voice  is  "  to  land."  Let  them  go.  Good 
riddance !  Two  of  us  stay  with  the  boatman.  Now 
flash  up  the  Northern  lights!  Now  appears  the 
evening  star,  crowning  yonder  hill,  and  twinkling 
defiantly  in  the  very  face  of  the  new  moon.  Plucky 
star !  That's  right !  to  take  for  your  motto  that  of 
America — Room  and  freedom  for  all. 

"  What  will  we  ever  do  when  we  get  back  to  New 
York?"  dolefully  asked  little 'Bright  Eyes  of  me, 
the  other  day,  as  she  came  in  with  her  apron  full  of 
mosses  and  flowers.  That's  just  it.  That's  what  1 


232         Dog-days  in  tlie  Mountains. 

want  to  know.  No  cool  lake  awaits  me  there  at 
eventide,  on  whose  broad  expanse  one  can  float  into 
serenity.  But  instead,  gas-lighted,  unventilated 
public  assemblies,  where  vexed  questions  are  agitat 
ed  :  and  in  place  of  bird-singing,  inodorous  streets, 
full  of  children  whose  "  childhood  "  is  a  myth.  And 
for  the  lovely  fresh  morning,  with  its  aromatic 
odors,  the  whoop  of  milkmen,  the  rush  of  street  cars, 
and  the  old  maelstrom  whirl  of  business,  folly,  and 
sin.  My  very  soul  sickens  to  think  of  it.  I  won't 
think  of  it.  I'll  lay  off  and  dream. 

Every  summer  vacation  I  ask  myself,  why  people 
who  have  no  relish  for  country  life  doom  themselves 
to  yawn  through  six  or  eight  weeks  of  it?-  People 
who  never  move  from  a  certain  chair  on  the  piazza 
save  to  migrate  to  their  beds,  or  to  the  dining-table ; 
who  have  neither  eyes  to  see  earth's  glory,  nor  heart 
to  be  grateful  for  it,  or  ears  open  to  its  myriad  musi 
cal  voices — living  discords  amid  all  its  harmony.  If 
invalids,  I  can  understand  and  pity  their  misfor 
tune  ;  but  your  fat,  well-to-do,  buxom  men  and 
women,  who  have  no  earthly  impediment  to  their 
locomotion,  and  yet  who  live  weeks  in  the  vicinity 
of  grand  natural  objects,  and  are  just  as  dead  to 
them  as  the  ox  in  the  meadow — why  do  they  travel 
thousands  of  dusty  miles  to  get  to  them  ?  People 
who  look  pityingly  at  you,  as  you  return  exhilarated 
from  your  delicious  rambles,  as  if  to  say,  "  Poor 
lunatics  f  "  One  turns  from  them  to  the  children,  to 
whom  every  daisy  and  blade  of  grass  is  a  bright 
heaven,  and  counts  sadly  over  their  lost  years.  Also, 


Dog-days  in  tlie  Mountains.         233 

I  would  like  to  ask,  is  there  anything  in  the  climate 
of  Vermont  which  turns  out  such  huge  trees,  moun 
tains,  and  men,  that  dwarfs  nearly  all  its  woman 
kind?  Again :  Do  preserves  and  pills,  flap-jacks 
and  ipecac,  plum- cake  and  castor-oil,  jelly  and 
jalap  have  a  natural  affinity,  that  they  are  so 
often  found  in  each  other's  company?  In  other 
words:  Why  do  the  country-women  of  New 
England  waste  their  time  in  concocting  the  indiges 
tible  richness  which  everybody  Js  better  without, 
and  which  renders  these  drugs  necessary  ?  Half  the 
time  thus  spent,  if  devoted  to  the  manufactory  of 
that  rare  commodity — sweet,  wholesome  bread — or 
to  the  best  way  of  cooking  meat  so  as  to  preserve  its 
juices,  would  shut  up  the  drug-shops,  prolong  their 
own  lives  and  good  looks,  and  make  them  a  credit 
to  the  glorious  country  in  which  they  are  born. 
Give  us  good  bread,  my  dear  country-women. 
What  else  soever  you  pass  over,  don't  slight  the 
bread.  It  is  the  crying  sin  of  the  country,  that  if 
there  are  cakes  and  pies  in  plenty,  the  bread  may 
be  sour,  or  filled  with  saleratus,  or  so  stale  that  a 
dog  would  not  swallow  it,  or  so  "  slack-baked  "  that 
one  might  as  well  eat  dough.  Now  the  digestion  of 
an  ostrich  would  fail  on  such  fare  as  this.'  A 
healthy  stomach  revolts  at  it,  and  refuses  to  be  put 
off  with  sweets  and  preserves.  It  is  a  crime  to  set 
such  bread  before  little  children,  even  if  adult  di 
gestion  were  equal  to  it,  which  it  is  not.  A  great 
reform  is  needed  here,  and  if  I  can  help  it  on,  I 
care  not  who  boxes  my  ears  for  the  attempt.  To 


234        Dog-days  in  the  Mountains. 

see  human  beings  making  and  swallowing  such 
messes,  and  then  sending  physic  after  it,  like  a  de 
tective,  to  clear  it  from  the  system,  is  a  proceeding 
which  should  give  them  all  a  free  pass  to  the  Luna 
tic  Asylum.  There — now  I  feel  better !  While  I 
am  catechising,  do  you  suppose  there  was  ever  an 
invalid  who  didn't  button-hole  everybody,  to  re 
capitulate  his  or  her  symptoms,  exhibit  their 
tongues,  and  discuss  patent  medicines  ?  It  gets  mo 
notonous  after  a  while,  particularly  when  you  know 
that  they  are  bound  personally  to  experiment  on 
every  pill,  powder,  and  plaster  that  any  heartless 
quack  may  invent  to  make  a  living.  If  half  of  them 
were  to  stop  taking  physic  entirely,  live  on  whole 
some  food,  take  plenty  of  fresh  air  and  sleep,  they 
would  never  know  pain  or  ache.  Don't  the  doctors 
know  this,  and  laugh  in  their  sleeves  at  it  ?  And 
does  a  doctor  ever  give  drugs  to  his  own  family  ? 
I  think  I  have  asked  questions  enough  for  the  pres 
ent,  so  we  will  consider  the  meeting  adjourned. 


SPBING  IN  THE  CITY. 

'HERE  are  those  who  like  to  begin  the  day 
vociferously ;  with  demonstrative  step  and 
voice  ;  with  hurry  and  rush.  I  confess  to  a 
love  of  the  serene,  soft-stepping  way  in  which  Na 
ture  heralds  in  the  day.  Soft  skies,  softer  music ;  the 
gradual  rolling  up  of  night's  mantle,  and  the  genial 
warmth  which  steals  imperceptibly  about  us.  Oh, 
that  sweet,  quiet,  devotional  coming  in  of  the  new 
born  day !  How  I  long  for  it,  as  the  blades  of  grass 
begin  to  grow  green,  between  the  pavement-stones 
of  the  crazy  city!  How  I  tire  of  its  quips  and 
pranks  and  circus-clown-tumblings.  How  stale  grow 
its  jests !  How  I  pant  for  freedom  outside  its  arti 
ficial,  heated  walls!  How  disgusting  is  the  road 
woman  must  travel  to  secure  all  this  happiness! 
Woollens  and  furs  to  be  put  safely  out  of  reach  of 
moths.  House-cleaning  and  carpet- shaking  to  be 
done.  Dresses  to  be  bought,  and  horror !  worse  than 
all,  to  be  fitted.  Trunks  to  be  packed — writing  to 
be  done,  weeks  ahead.  My  brain  spins  to  think 
what  a  purgatory  one  must  travel  through,  to  reach 
that  serene  heaven,  the  bird-peeping-morning-hour 
of  the  country  ;  when  nobody  comes  to  me  with  hor 
rible  questions  about  meat  and  butter.  When  as 
soon  as  my  shoes  and  stockings  are  on,  and  before 


236  Spring  in  the  City. 

the  dew  is  off,  or  the  lovely  mist  done  creeping  off 
the  mountains,  Nature's  cool  hand  is  laid  on  my 
temples,  and  I  give  her  the  best  of  me.  "With  my 
head  on  her  bosom,  I  forget  all  that  is  askew  in  life 
and  rest  there  contented  with  the  present ;  like  the 
babe  who  dreams  not  that  its  mother  will  presently 
loose  its  hand  from  her  neck,  and  disappear  while 
yet  the  trance  continues. 

If  I  am  sentimental,  forgive  me ;  but  sometimes 
I  sigh  to  think  how  much  of  life  goes  to  considera 
tion  of  food  and  clothes.  Now,  while  I  sojourned 
in  a  tent  on  the  James  river,  during  the  war,  I  used 
to  lie  in  my  cot,  and  consider  these  things  among 
others.  There  were  just  the  cot,  a  rough  pine  table, 
and  my  trunk,  for  furniture.  I  had  only  to  wash 
my  face  and  hands  in  the  tin  basin  of  water  that 
Sambo  slipped  under  the  tent  every  morning,  and 
all  those  bothering,  small  considerations  were  dis 
posed  of  for  the  day. 

There  was  no  carpet  there  to  be  swept — there 
were  no  pictures  or  china  to  look  after.  Sambo 
made  my  bed,  while  I  went  into  another  tent  to 
breakfast;  and  the  fighting  was  going  on  out 
side,  which  was  to  leave  it  optional  with  Sambo 
about  handing  tin-basins  of  water  to  white  folks. 
All  that  suited  me.  Life  under  these  circumstances 
seemed  to  have  something  in  it.  I  felt  dignified  to 
be  alive,  and  thanked  my  father  and  mother  for  it. 

We  have  finished  the  war  since  then.  I  am  not 
sorry  for  that,  but  life  in  that  tent  has  spoiled  me 
for  parlor  fripperies.  That's  the  worst  of  it.  I 


Spring  in  the  City.  237 

keep  all  the  time  asking  everybody  if  they  don't 
think  we  should  be  a  great  deal  happier  without  all 
these  artificial  wants,  that  so  wear  our  spirits  and 
souls  out.  Bless  you,  they  all  say,  yes ;  but  they 
keep  going  on  all  the  same,  and  I  suppose  I  shall. 


A  WOMAN'S  MOTION. — I  rise  to  make  a  proposi 
tion.  It  is  this:  that  the  name  and  denomination, 
and  the  name  of  the  pastor,  of  our  respective 
churches,  should  be  neatly  placed  beside  the  princi 
pal  entrance  door,  that  strangers  may  be  able  to 
find  those  churches  they  desire.  Why  not  ?  as  well 
as  the  name  of  the  sexton  and  his  residence,  which 
we  find  upon  nearly  all  our  churches.  I  won't 
charge  anything  for  the  hint,  provided  it  is  carried 
out.  The  thought  came  to  me  as  I  was  touched 
upon  the  arm  by  a  stranger  the  other  Sunday,  in  the 
porch  of  a  New  York  church,  and  asked,  "  Of  what 
denomination  is  the  pastor  here  ? "  I  had  to  rub 
my  head  to  remember,  for  creeds  and  denominations 
find  little  lodgment  there.  Provided  I  find  Chris 
tianity,  that's  enough  for  me,  and  to  my  thinking, 
no  one  church  has  the  monopoly  of  that. 


WAIFS. 

you  ever  try  to  rid  yourself  of  a  thing 
you  did  not  want  ?  An  old  glove  or  a  faded 
knot  of  ribbon,  or  a  bit  of  lace?  After 
Bettina  has  picked  it  up,  and  with  honest  delight 
returned  it  as  a  missing  valuable,  and  every  adult 
and  minor  in  the  house  has  taken  his  or  her  turn  in 
depositing  it  carefully  on  your  table,  were  you  ever 
driven  "  clean  "  demented  by  the  dust-man  ringing 
the  area  bell,  with  the  article  in  question,  thinking, 
deluded  philanthropist,  that  he  had  performed  a  vir 
tuous  action  ?  Go  where  you  may,  can  you  rid 
yourself  of  it  ?  Don't  it  turn  up  between  the  covers 
of  books,  and  stare  at  you  from  bureau  drawers,  and 
appear  simultaneously  with  your  pocket-handker 
chief  on  some  august  occasion  from  your  robe 
pocket?  "Will  water  quench  it,  or  fire  burn  it? 
Don't  it  always  fly  up  chimney  unharmed  by  the 
sparks,  and  watch  an  opportunity  to  re-enter  at  the 
area  door  ?  "When  you  go  out,  don't  it  frisk  along 
the  gutter,  timing  itself  to  your  steps,  slow  or  quick ; 
or  eddy  round  your  head  in  a  gust  of  wind,  and  fi 
nally  get  blown  back  upon  your  door-step,  where  it 
persists  in  lodging,  spite  of  brooms  and  Bettys,  till 
you  get  as  nervous  about  it  as  if  it  were  some  re 
lentless  enemy,  dogging  your  every  step  ?  Perhaps 


Waifs.  239 

all  this  while  you  are  hunting  every  nook  and  cor 
ner  vainly  to  find  some  article  you  really  want,  and 
which  persistently  keeps  out  of  your  way,  or  at 
least  until  you  have  given  it  up,  and  replaced  it  with 
a  duplicate,  when  it  takes  that  occasion  suddenly  to 
appear,  and  innocently  to  confront  you,  from  a  fold 
in  an  arm-chair,  or  sofa,  or  from  the  corner  of  a 
carpet. 

"When  I  experience  these  trials,  I  no  longer  mar 
vel  at  the  clutching  fingers  thrust  through  the 
grated  windows  of  lunatic  asylums,  or  the  unearthly 
howls  of  rage  or  peals  of  wild  laughter  with  which 
these  unfortunates  give  vent  to  their  feelings.  I  no 
longer  smile  at  the  annoyed  man  who,  waking  one 
fine  spring  morning,  and  looking  at  the  fresh  grass, 
exclaimed,  "  What !  Green  again  !  and— blue — his 
brains  (?)  out," 


PARTIAL  JUDGMENT. — How  few  people  are  gifted 
with  the  faculty  of  seeing  round  a  corner  ;  in  other 
words,  looking  at  both  sides  of  a  question  before 
deciding !  Those  who  have  not  this  gift  are  always 
sinning,  and  always  repenting ;  always  asserting, 
and  always  retracting.  They  may  have  many  esti 
mable  qualities,  and  yet,  their  house  being  built 
on  such  a  sandy  foundation,  one  hesitates  before 
entering  it ;  or,  if  he  makes  up  his  mind  to  do  so, 
it  is  with  the  deliberate  expectation  that  he  may 
possibly  be  buried  under  its  ruins. 


TACT. 

not  particularly  good  at  definitions,  but  I 
know  what  tact  is  not.  It  is  n69t  tact  to  sit 
down  by  the  side  of  a  person  grieving  for 
the  dead,  and  tell  them  how  much  more  comfort 
able  life  would  now  be  to  them,  did  they  not  love  so 
strongly  ;  and  how  much  wiser,  could  they  only  be 
more  diffusive  in  their  attachments,  and  concentrate 
less  ;  so  that  when  the  crape  flutters  from  tlue  door, 
one  could  coolly  say  :  "  Yes,  it  is  true — he  or  she  is 
dead  and  gone  ;  and  there's  no  help  for  it ;  let  us 
turn  to  something  else  and  be  jolly." 

It  is  not  tact  to  tell  a  mother,  who  has  an  idiotic 
or  deformed  child,  how  smart,  and  sweet,  and  bright 
are  your  own  ;  with  what  a  zest  they  enter  into 
rollicksome  sports ;  how  apt  they  are  to  learn,  and 
how  brilliant  may  be  their  own  and  your  future. 

It  is  not  tact,  if  you  have  an  acquaintance,  who  only 
by  the  most  rigid  and  painstaking  economy  can 
maintain  a  presentable  appearance,  to  make  a  call 
on  such,  in  an  elaborate  toilet,  with  manners  to 
match. 

It  is  not  tact  to  embarrass  persons  of  limited 
education,  and  little  reading,  by  conversing  upon 
topics  of  which  they  can  by  no  possibility  know  any. 
thing,  save  that  you  have  the  advantage  of  them  in 


Tact.  241 

that  regard.  It  is  not  tact,  in  the  presence  of  an  in 
valid,  to  dilate  upon  savory  dishes,  and  the  pleasures 
of  the  table.  It  is  not  tact  to  converse  with  an  edi 
tor  upon  a  quiet,  peaceful  life ;  or  with  a  compelled 
authoress  upon  the  safe  and  uninvaded  sanctities  of 
the  fireside  for  women. 

The  most  astounding  instance  of  tact,  is  to  listen, 
inwardly  crucified,  with  a  pleased  air,  to  an  old — 
old  joke,  and  a  poor  one  at  that :  to  improvise 
a  laugh  at  the  proper  moment,  and  successfully  to 
resist  the  malicious  instinct  to  flatter  the  narrator, 
at  the  close,  by  saying  :  "  Yes,  I  have  heard  that  be 
fore." 


ANSWEK  TOUR  CHILDREN'S  QUESTIONS. — Education 
is  erroneously  supposed  only  to  be  had  at  schools. 
The  most  ignorant  children  often  have  been  con 
stant  in  their  attendance  there,  and  there  have  been 
very  intelligent  ones  who  never  saw  the  inside  of  a 
school-room.  The  child  who  always  asks  an  explan 
ation  of  terms  or  phrases  it  cannot  understand,  who 
is  never  willing  to  repeat,  parrot-like,  that  which  is 
incomprehensible,  will  far  outstrip  in  "education" 
the  ordinary  routine  scholar.  "  Education  "  goes  on 
with  children  at  the  fireside — on  the  street — at 
church — at  play — everywhere.  Do  not  refuse  to 
answer  their  proper  questions  then.  Do  not  check 
this  natural  intelligence,  for  which  books  can  never 
compensate,  though  you  bestowed  whole  libraries. 
16 


THE  INFIRMITIES  OF  GENIUS. 


Burns ! "  all  exclaim  after  reading  his 
life  and  bis  poems.  Poor  Burns !  I  too 
say  ;  and  the  next  minute  I  ask,  impatiently, 
why  he,  so  conscious  of  his  God-given  powers, 
should  have  miserably  shortened  his  life  one-half  by 
ill-governed  appetites  and  excesses.  Why,  if  coin 
ing  his  brain  into  dollars,  for  the  widow  and  father 
less,  proved  impossible,  he  should  become  so  dis 
gusted  with  manual  labor,  that  even  his  filial, 
fraternal,  and  conjugal  love  could  not  dignify  its 
repulsive  features,  since  it  needs  must  be.  Why, 
with  a  loving,  prudent,  industrious,  faithful  wife  to 
help  him,  he  could  not  emulate  her  everyday  but  sub 
lime  heroism,  not  by  paroxysms  of  effort,  only  to  show 
us  how  well  he  might  have  done,  but  that  steady,  de 
termined  persistence  which  seldom  fails  of  success. 
Why  he,  at  once  so  great  and  so  little,  took  pleasure 
and  pride  in  wallowing  in  the  mire,  merely  because 
strait-laced  hypocrisy  stepped  daintily  over  it  with 
white-sandalled  feet.  There  was  no  greatness  in 
this.  It  was  but  the  angry  kick  of  the  impatient 
urchin  upon  the  chair  over  which  he  had  stumbled. 
Did  his  ambition  to  be  written  down  a  publican  and 
a  sinner  lessen  the  ranks  of  the  Pharisee  ?  Could 


The  Infirmities  of  Genius.         243 

he  look  into  the  trusting  faces  of  his  innocent  chil 
dren,  and  feel  no  secret  pang  that  for  so  petty  and 
unworthy  a  motive  he  was  content  to  hazard  or 
forego  their  future  respect  ?  Had  he  none  but 
himself  to  consult  in  such  unworthy  disposition  of 
his  time  and  talents?  Was  it  manly  in  the 
midst  of  that  loving  group  coolly  to  look  forward  to 
the  possibility  of  an  old  age  of  beggary,  and  tolera 
tion  by  chance  firesides,  in  the  undignified  character 
of  jester  or  clown  ?  Because  a  man  is  a  "  genius," 
must  one  indorse  these  things  and  write  them  down  as 
"  eccentricities  "  inseparable  from  it  and  to  be  lightly 
passed  over  ?  Must  intellect  necessarily  be  at  vari 
ance  with  principle  ? 

And  yet — and  yet — because  1  can  say  this,  I  do 
not  fall  a  whit  behind  the  most  ardent  admirer  of 
his  genius.  But  I  do  hold  that  he  is  to  be  held  as 
accountable  for  his  errors  as  the  most  ordinary  far 
mer's  boy  who  is  unable  to  spell  the  name  of  the 
plough  which  he  guides.  Nor  does  this  interfere 
with  the  heart-aching  pity  with  which  I  look  upon 
the  soiled  wings,  so  capable  of  soaring  into  a  pure 
atmosphere,  yet  trailing  their  beauty  in  the  dust. 
Nor  does  this  keep  my  eyes  from  overflowing  when 
some  lofty  or  beautiful  sentiment  of  his  shines  out 
diamond-like  from  the  rubbish. 

How  could  he  f      Why  did  he  f 

Softly — reverently  let  us  answer.  We  so  full  of 
faults — always  sinning — sometimes  repenting.  Soft 
ly  let  us  answer.  "We  who  have  not  sinned  only 


244          The  Infirmities  of  Genius. 

because  we  were  not  tempted.  Softly — we  whom 

pride,  not  principle^  has  saved.  Softly — we  whose 

lives  the  world  writes  fair,  and  perhaps  God's  eye 
leprously  foul. 


COUNTRY  MATINS. — He  who  sleeps  at  early  dawn 
in  the  country,  stops  his  ears  to  the  prayers  of 
Nature.  That  early  tuneful  waking!  What  can 
compare  with  it?  Evening  is  soothing  and  sweet, 
with  its  stars  and  its  calm  ;  but  the  gradual  bright 
ness  of  the  new  day,  softly  stealing  upon  us,  as  the 
tints  deepen  and  the  songs  strengthen,  till  the  full 
orchestra  is  complete,  oh !  this  is  soul  strengthening 
and  sublime !  We  were  weak  of  purpose,  we  were 
dispirited,  the  night  before.  Yesterday  had  over 
lapped  its  cares,  and  our  tired  shoulders  shrank 
from  the  coming  burden.  But  this  bright  resurrec 
tion  heralded  so  thrillingly  by  soulless  creatures ! 
Shall  we  immortals  only  be  thankless  and  dumb  ? 
We  join  the  chorus !  Care  sits  lightly  at  this  blessed 
hour.  All  things  for  that  day  are  possible  to  us— 
hard  duty  sweet.  Blessed  be  God,  then,  for  the 
sweet  dawning  of  each  new  day  1 


A  TRIP  TO  THE  CAATSEILLS. 


ELL— I've  "done"  the  Caatskills!  I've  tug 
ged  up  that  steep  mountain,  one  of  the 
hottest  days  in  which  a  quadruped  or  a 
biped  ever  perspired,  packed  to  suffocation,  with 
other  gasping  sufferers,  in  that  crucifying  institu 
tion  called  a  stage-coach,  until  I  became  resignedly 
indifferent,  whether  it  reached  its  destination,  or 
rolled  head  over  heels — or  rather  head  over  wheels 
— over  the  precipice.  Landing  at  last  at  the  hotel, 
I  was  conscious  of  only  one  want — a  bedroom ; 
which,  when  obtained,  was  close  enough,  and  which 
I  shared  with  three  other  jaded  mortals.  The  next 
morning,  thanks  to  a  good  Providence  and  the  land 
lord,  I  emigrated  into  unexceptionable  quarters. 

Ah — now  I  breathe  1  now  I  remember  no  more 
that  purgatorial  reeling  stage-coach,  and  its  pro 
tracted  jigglings — wriggling — joltings  and  bump- 
ings.  Now  I  am  repaid — now  I  gaze — oh,  how 
can  I  gaze  with  only  one  pair  of  eyes,  on  all  this 
beauty  and  magnificence  ?  This  vast  plain  spread 
out  so  far  below  our  feet  like  an  immense  garden, 
with  its  luxuriant  foliage — its  little  cottages,  smaller 
than  a  child's  toy :  its  noble  river,  specked  with 
white  sails,  lessened  by  distance  to  a  silver  thread, 


246  A   Trip  to  the  CaatsMls. 

winding  through  the  meadows;  and  beyond — still 
other  plains,  other  streams,  other  mountains — on — 
on — stretching  far  beyond  the  dizzy  ken,  till  the 
eye  tills,  and  the  heart  swells,  and  leaning  in  an 
ecstasy  of  happiness  on  the  bosom  of  "Our 
Father,"  we  cry,  "  Oh !  what  is  man  that  Thou  art 
mindful  of  him  ?  " 

Now — as  if  the  scene  were  too  gorgeous  for 
mortal  sight,  nature  gently,  compassionately  drops 
a  silvery  veil  of  mist  before  it,  veiling,  yet  not 
hiding — withdrawing,  yet  not  removing — giving  us 
now  sunshine,  now  shadow ;  bringing  out  now  the 
vivid  green  of  a  meadow,  now  the  silver  sheen  of 
the  river ;  now  the  bold  outline  of  a  pine-girdled 
mountain.  And  now — the  scene  changes,  and 
fleets  of  clouds  sail  slowly — glide  ghostly,  round  the 
mountain's  base;  winding-sheets  wrapped  round 
the  shapely  trees,  from  which  they  burst  with  a  glo 
rious  resurrection ;  while  over  and  above  all  arches 
the  blue  heavens,  smiling  that  it  canopies  a  scene 
so  fair.  See — village  after  village,  like  specks  in 
the  distance — where  human  hearts  throb  to  human 
joys  and  sorrows;  where  restless  ambition  flutters 
against  the  barred  cage  of  necessity,  pining  for  the 
mountain-top  of  freedom  ;  when,  gained,  oh,  weary 
traveller,  to  lose  its  distant  golden  splendor,  and 
wrap  thee  in  the  chill  vapors  of  discontent.  "What 
matter — if  thou  but  accept  this  proof  of  thy  immor 
tality?  Yes — village  after  village;  farmers  plod 
ding  on,  as  farmers  too  often  will,  turning  up  the 
soil  for  dollars  and  cents,  seeing  only  in  the  clouds 


A  Trip  to  the  CaatsTcills.      .     247 

the  filter  for  their  crops ;  in  the  lakes  the  refrig 
erator  for  their  fish ;  in  the  glorious  trees  their 
fuel ;  in  the  waving  grass  and  sloping  meadows, 
feed  for  their  cattle ;  in  the  sweet  sunrise  an  alarm 
bell  to  labor,  in  the  little  bird's  vespers  but  a  call  to 
feed  and  sleep. 

Now — twilight  steals  upon  the  mountains,  calm 
as  heaven.  The  bright  valleys  sleep  in  their  deep 
ening  shadows,  while  on  the  mountain-tops  lingers 
the  glory,  as  if  loath  to  fade  into  the  perfumed 
night.  With  a  graceful  sweep  the  little  bird 
mounts  to  the  clouds,  takes  his  last  circling  flight, 
and  sings  his  evening  hymn,  sweet  and  soft  as  the 
rapt  soul's  whispered  farewell  to  earth.  And  yet — 
O  God ! — this  is  but  the  porch  to  the  temple,  be 
fore  whose  dazzling  splendors  even  Thy  seraphs  veil 
their  sinless  eyes. 

In  an  article  in  a  late  weekly,  I  was  shocked  at 
a  flippant  and  unfeeling  allusion  to  "  the  yellow 
invalids  one  meets  at  watering-places."  Surely,  the 
sight  of  such,  wandering  forth  with  feeble  step  and 
faded  eyes,  taking  their  last  look  at  this  beautiful 
earth,  side  by  side  with  the  rosy  cheek  and  bound? 
ing  pulse  of  health,  should  excite  in  us  only  feelings 
of  tenderest  love  and  compassion.  Some  such  I 
met ;  but  I  would  not,  if  I  could,  that  their  pale 
faces  should  have  been  banished  from  our  merry 
circle.  It  was  no  damper  011  my  enjoyment  to  gaze 
at  their  drooping  eyelids,  and  listlessly  crossed 
hands.  I  would  but  have  yielded  them  the  cosiest 
corner  on  the  sofa,  or  the  most  comfortable  arm- 


248          A  Trip  to  the  CaatsUlls. 

chair,  or  the  sunniest  nook  on  the  piazza,  or  tempted 
their  failing  appetite  with  the  daintiest  bit  at  the 
table.  I  would  like  to  have  taken  their  transparent 
hands  in  my  healthy  palm,  and  given  them  a  kindly 
grasp,  by  which  they  would  recognize  me  in  that 
better  land,  which  every  day  dawns  clearer  on  my 
sight.  It  is  well  that  we  should  have  such  in  our 
midst ;  and  surely  none  whose  hearts  are  drawn  by 
yearning,  but  invisible  cords,  to  the  dear  ones  who 
once  made  sunlight  in  our  homes,  can  fail  to  recog 
nize  and  respond  to  the  tacit  claims  of  the  stranger- 
invalid  upon  our  tenderest  sympathies. 

And  while  upon  this  subject,  I  would  speak  a 
word,  which,  it  seems  to  me,  needs  to  be  spoken — 
upon  a  courteous  recognition  of  the  lonely,  unobtru 
sive  traveller,  who,  for  the  time,  makes  one  of  the 
same  family  under  a  hotel  roof.  It  is  easy  for  all  to 
pay  court  to  the  distinguished,  the  handsome,  or  the 
agreeable ;  to  seek  an  introduction  to  such,  or  man 
ufacture  a  pretext  for  speaking.  It  is  for  the  un 
attractive  I  would  plead,  and  the  aged — for  those 
who  have  nothing  to  recommend  them  to  notice, 
save  that  they  are  unnoticed.  It  seems  to  me  that 
one  need  study  no  book  of  etiquette  to  find  out, 
that  a  passing  salutation  to  such,  a  kind  inquiry 
after  their  health,  an  offer  of  a  flower — when  one 
has  been  rambling  where  their  weary  feet  may 
not  go — is  the  true  politeness.  One  feels  like  spurn 
ing  the  civility  received  at  the  hands  of  those  who 
see  not  in  these  disregarded  ones  the  lineaments  of 
the  same  Father.  It  gives  me  pleasure  to  say  that 


A  Trip  to  the  Caatskills.  249 

I  have  witnessed  some  noble  examples  of  courtesy 
to  such,  extended  with  a  graceful  ease,  which  would 
seem  less  to  confer  a  favor  than  to  receive  one  by 
their  acceptance. 

It  was  very  pleasant  to  see  little  children  at  the 
Caatskills ;  but  they  were  all  too  few.  Children 
are  generally  supposed  to  be  bad  travellers  :  this  is 
a  mistake.  They  have  often  more  self-denial,  for 
titude,  and  endurance  than  half  your  grown  peo 
ple.  I  can  answer  at  least  for  one  little  girl  under 
my  charge  from  whom  no  amount  of  burning  sun, 
hunger,  or  fatigue,  extorted  a  syllable  of  com 
plaint  ;  in  fact,  I  once  saw  her  endure  a  car  collis 
ion  with  the  same  commendable  philosophy,  while 
men  old  enough  to  be  her  father  were  frantic  with 
affright.  "Render  unto  children  their  due,"  is  on  the 
fly-leaf  of  my  Bible. 

Yes,  it  is  good  for  them  to  go  out  of  cities.  A 
city  child  is  a  cruel,  wicked,  shapeless,  one-sided 
abortion.  'Tis  a  pale  shoot  of  a  plant,  struggling 
bravely  for  its  little  day  of  life  in  some  rayless  cor 
ner,  all  unblest  by  the  warm  sunshine  which  God 
intended  to  give  to  it  color,  strength,  and  fragrance. 
What  wonder  that  the  blight  falls  on  it  ?  Do  you 
say,  Pshaw  ?  Do  you  suppose  a  child,  for  instance, 
could  appreciate  the  scenery  at  the  Caatskills  ?  I 
ask  you,  do  all  the  adults  who  flock  there  to  gaze, 
appreciate  it  ?  Do  you  not  hear  the  words  "  divine," 
—  "  enchanting," — "  beautiful," —  "  magnificent,"  — 
applied  by  them,  as  often  to  costume  as  to  clouds  1 
Give  me  a  child's  appreciation  of  such  a  scene, 


250          A  Trip  to  tlie  CaatsUlls. 

before  that  of  two-thirds  of  the  adult  gazers.  Its 
thought  may  be  half -fledged,  and  given  with  lisping 
utterance,  but  it  is  a  thought.  The  eyes,  while 
speaking,  may  suddenly  change  their  look  of  won 
dering  awe,  for  one  of  eliish.fun;  what  matter! 
The  feeling  was  sincere,  though  fleeting — genuine, 
though  fragmentary.  By  and  by  that  little  child, 
leaving  its  sports,  will  come  back  again  to  my  side 
as  I  sit  upon  the  rocks ;  and  any  gray-haired  phi 
losopher  who  can,  may  answer  the  question  with 
which  she  seals  my  lips ;  any  poet  who  can,  may 
coin  a  phrase  which,  more  fitly  than  her's,  symbols 
nature's  beauty.  Now  she's  off  to  play  again — leav 
ing  the  deep  question  unanswered,  but  not  for  that 
reason  to  be  forgotten — no  more  than  the  rock,  or 
mountain,  or  river,  which  called  it  forth,  and  which 
is  hung  up  like  a  cabinet  picture  in  that  childish 
memory,  to  be  clouded  over,  it  may  be,  by  the  dust 
and  discolorations  of  after  years,  but  never  de 
stroyed — waiting  quietly  that  master  touch,  which 
obliterating  all  else,  as  if  trivial  or  unworthy,  re 
stores  only  to  the  fading  eye  of  age,  in  freshened 
beauty,  the  glowing  pictures  of  childhood. 

The  great  charm  of  the  Caatskills  is  its  constant 
variety ;  look  where  you  may,  you  shall  never  see 
twice  the  same  effect  of  light  and  shade.  Again, 
and  again  I  said  to  myself,  How,  amid  such  pro 
digal,  changeful  beauty,  shall  the  artist  choose  ? 
Life  were  all  too  short  for  the  decision.  Ever  the 
busy  finger  of  Omnipotence,  silently  showing  us 
wonder  upon  wonder.  "  Silently,"  did  I  say?  Ah, 


A   Trip  to  the  Caatskills.  251 

no  ;  ever  writing,  on  cloud  and  valley,  rock,  moun 
tain,  and  river — "  all  these  as  a  scroll  shall  be  rolled 
away,  but  My  Word  shall  never  pass  away." 

I  have  not  spoken  of  the  lovely  rides  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  Caatskills,  of  which  we  were  not  slow 
to  avail  ourselves.  Turn  which  way  we  would,  all 
was  beauty.  And  yet,  not  all — I  must  not  forget 
among  these  magnificent  mountains  the  hateful, 
bare,  desolate,  treeless,  vineless,  old-fashioned  school- 
house,  resembling  a  covered  pound  for  stray  calves. 
What  a  sight  it  was,  to  be  sure,  to  see  the  weary 
children  swarm  out  into  the  warm  sunshine,  shout 
ing  for  very  joy  that  they  might  shout,  and  trying 
their  poor  cramped  limbs  to  see  if  they  had  not 
actually  lost  the  use  of  them  in  those  inquisitorially 
devised  seats.  Alas !  what  an  alphabet  might  a 
teacher  who  was  a  child-lover  have  deciphered, 
outside  those  purgatorial  walls,  on  trees,  and  flow 
ers,  and  mountains;  the  teaching  of  which  would 
have  needed  no  quickening  ferule,  cramped  no  rest 
less  limbs,  overtasked  and  diseased  no  forming 
brain!  What  streams  of  knowledge,  waiting  only 
the  divining  rod  of  the  lover  of  God,  and  His  repre 
sentatives — little  children — to  freshen  and  to  beau 
tify  wheresoever  they  should  flow ! 

Yes — it  was  good  to  see  those  children  kicking 
their  reprieved  heels  in  the  air — I  only  wish  they 
could  have  kicked  over  that  desolate  old  school- 
house.  They  didn't  know  why  I  nodded  to  them 
such  a  merry  good  day  ;  they  never  will  know,  poor 
victims,  how  royally  well  I  sympathized  with  their 


252  A  Trip  to  the  CaatsJcills. 

somersets  on  the  grass — they  thought,  perhaps,  that 
I  knew  the  "  school-marm ;  " — Heaven  forbid — I 
would  rather  know  the  incendiary  who  should  set 
fire  to  her  school-house  ! 

In  one  neighborhood — which  is  so  small  that  an 
undertaker  must  be  sorely  puzzled  to  find  subjects 
— I  noticed  a  hideous  picture  of  a  coffin  stuck  on 
the  front  of  a  small  dwelling-house,  with  a  repul 
sive  ostentation  that  outdid  even  New  York.  This, 
to  an  invalid  visiting  the  Caatskills  for  health  (and 
there  are  many  such),  must  be  an  inspiriting  sight ! 

This  summer  travel,  after  all,  is  a  most  excellent 
thing.  It  is  well  for  people  from  different  parts  of 
the  country  to  rub  off  their  local  angles  by  collision. 
It  is  well  for  those  of  opposite  temperaments  and 
habits  of  thought,  to  look  each  other  mentally  in  the 
face.  It  is  well  for  the  indefatigable  mother  and 
housekeeper  to  remain  ignorant,  for  one  blessed  month, 
of  the  inevitable,  "What  shall  we  have  for  dinner?" 
It  is  well  for  the  man  of  business,  whose  thoughts 
are  narrowed  down  to  stocks  and  stores,  to  look  out 
on  the  broad  hills,  and  let  the  little  bird's  song  stir 
memories  of  days  when  heaven  was  nearer  to  him 
than  it  has  ever  been  since.  It  is  well  for  the  ossi 
fied  old  bachelor  to  air  his  selfishness  in  the  genial 
atmosphere  of  woman's  smile.  It  is  well  for  the 
overtasked  clergyman,  and  his  equally  overtasked 
(though  not  equally  salaried)  wife,  to  have  a  brief 
breathing  spell  from  vestries  and  verjuice.  It  is 
well  for  their  daughter,  who  has  been  tied  up  to  the 
parish  pillory  of — "  you  must  not  do  this,"  and  "you 


A  Trip  to  the  Caatskills.  253 

must  not  do  that,"  and  "  you  must  not  do  the  other," 
till  she  begins  to  think  that  God  did  not  know  what 
He  was  about  when  He  made  her,  to  bestow  so  many 
powers,  and  tastes,  and  faculties,  which  must  be 
forever  folded  up  in  a  napkin,  for  fear  of  offending 
"  Mrs.  Grundy."  It  is  well  for  the  Editor,  that  he 
may  look  in  the  faces  of  the  women  whose  boo7cs  he 
has  reviewed,  and  condemned,  too,  without  reading 
a  blessed  word  of  them.  It  is  well  for  everybody 
— even  the  exclusives  who  hesitate,  through  fear  of 
plebeian  contamination,  ,to  sit  down  in  the  common 
parlor;  because,  were  all  the  world  wise — which 
Heaven  forbid — there  would  be  nothing  to  laugh  at ! 
A  lack  of  competition  is  said  to  affect  progress. 
That  the  traveller  to  the  Caatskills  has  no  choice  but 
"  The  Mountain  House,"  should  not,  it  seems  to  me, 
act  as  an  extinguisher  to  enterprise  upon  its  well- 
patronized  landlord.  I  might  make  many  sugges 
tions  as  to  improvements,  by  which  I  am  sure  he 
would,  in  the  end,  be  no  loser.  It  needs  no  great 
stretch  of  the  imagination  to  fancy  the  carriage 
which  conveys  victims  to  "  The  Falls,"  a  relic  of  the 
Inquisition.  I  did  not  know  till  I  had  tried  it,  how 
many  evolutions  a  comfortably-fleshed  woman  could 
perform  in  a  minute,  between  the  roof  and  floor  of 
such  a  ve-higgle  !  (Result — a  villanous  headache — 
and  the  black  and  blues.)  I  noticed  a  small  book 
shelf  in  the  very  pleasant  ladies'  parlor.  "  Praise 
God  Barebones,"  I  think,  must  have  made  the  selec 
tion  of  the  volumes.  But  it  is  pleasanter  to  com 
mend  than  to  find  fault.  I  could  forgive  many 


254  A  Trip  to  tli-e  Caatskills. 

shortcomings  for  the  privilege  of  feasting  on  the 
wholesome  light  bread,  which  to  a  saleratus-consum- 
ing — saleratus-consumed  New  Yorker,  was  glory 
enough  to  nibble  at.  Blessings,  too,  on  the  skilful 
fingers  which  stirred  up  those  appetizing  omelettes 
and  sublime  orange-puddings.  What  an  amusement 
it  is,  to  be  sure,  to  watch  a  man  when  he  gets  hold 
of  the  dish  he  fancies !  What  fun  to  bother  him  with 
innumerable  questions  while  he  is  trying  to  eat  it  in 
undisturbed  rapture — meanwhile  wishing  you  at  the 
North  Pole!  How  cynical  the  creatures  are,  the 
last  interminable  half  hour  before  meals,  and  how 
sweetly  amiable  and  lazy  after!  Then  is  your  time 
to  try  men's  soles  ;  to  insist  upon  their  taking  a  walk 
with  you,  when  they  can  scarce  waddle;  when 
visions  of  curling  Havana  smoke  invite  them  to  two- 
legged  piazza-chairs,  digestion,,  and  meditation. 
Then  is  your  time  to  be  suddenly  seized  with  an  un- 
postponable  longing  for  a  brisk  game  of  ten-pins,  to 
test  the  sincerity  of  all  their  disinterested  speeches. 
My  dears,  the  man  who  continues  amiable  while  you 
thus  stroke  his  inclinations  the  wrong  way,  may 
safely  be  trusted  in  any  matrimonial  crisis.  I  in 
dorse  him. 

With  regard  to  the  Falls  it  may  be  a  delusion, 
but  I  think  it  is  rather  a  damper  to  sentiment  to  fee 
a  man  to  turn  on  the  water  for  them !  and  I  know 
it  is  a  damper  to  the  slippers  to  go  down  into  the 
ravine  beneath — which,  joking  aside,  is  very  beauti 
ful,  and  a  great  place  for  a  bear  to  hug  you  in.  In 
stead  of  which,  I  met  a  young  parson  whom  I  knew 


A  Trip  to  the  Gaatskills.  255 

by  token  of  his  very  black  coat,  and  very  white  neck 
tie  ;  and  who  actually  pulled  from  his  sacerdotal 
pocket  a  profane  handkerchief  which  I  had  care 
lessly  dropped,  presenting  it  with  as  much  gravity 
as  if  he  had  been  giving  me  "  the  right  hand  of  fel 
lowship."  Heaven  help  him — so  young — so  well- 
made — and  so  solemn! — I  felt  immensely  like  a 
frolic.  And  speaking  of  frolics — oh,  the  mountains 
I  had  to  leave  unclimbed,  the  "  campings  out  "  fore 
gone — and  all  because  I  was  foreordained  to  petti 
coats — hampering,  bush-catching  petticoats  ! — all  be 
cause  I  hadn't  courage  to  put  on  trousers  (in  which, 
by  the  way,  I  have  made  several  unsatisfactory  pri 
vate  rehearsal  attempts  to  unsex  myself,  but  nature 
was  too  much  for  me),  and  wade  knee-deep  in  moss 
to  see  what  man  alone,  by  privilege  of  his  untram 
melled  apparel,  may  feast  his  eyes  upon.  It  is  a 
crying  shame.  Ten-pins,-  too  ;  who  can  get  a  "  ten- 
strike  "  in  petticoats  ?  See  what  I  would  do  at  it 
in  a  jacket  and  unmentionables,  though  I  really 
think  nature  had  no  eye  to  this  game  when  she  mod 
elled  a  woman's  hand  and  wrist.  Now  I  dare  say 
there  are  straight-laced  people  wlio  will  be  shocked 
at  the  idea  of  a  woman  playing  ten-pins.  Well,  let 
them  be  shocked.  I  vote  for  it  for  two  reasons; 
first,  for  the  exercise,  when  dripping  grass  and 
lowering  skies  deny  it  to  us  elsewhere;  secondly, 
because  it  is  always  a  pleasant  sight  to  see  husbands 
sharing  this,  or  any  other  innocent  recreation,  with 
their  wives  and  daughters,  instead  of  herding  self 
ishly  in  male  flocks.  I  like  this  feature  of  domes- 


256  A  Trip  to  the  OaatsUlls. 

ti  city  in  pleasure-seeking  in  our  friends,  the  Germans. 
I  like  the  Germans.  Their  joy  is  infectious.  A 
sprinkling  of  such  spirits  would  do  much  towards 
infusing  a  little  life  into  the  solemn  business  way  in 
which  Americans  too  often  pursue,  but  seldom  over 
take,  pleasure.  Yes,  it  is  a  lovely  sight  to  see  them 
with  their  families !  and  oh,  how  much  more  honor 
able  and  just,  to  a  painstaking,  economical  wife  and 
mother,  than  the  expensive  meal,  shared  at  a  restau 
rant  with  some  male  companion,  while  she  sits  soli 
tary,  to  whom  a  proposal  even  for  a  simple  walk 
would  be  happiness,  as  an  evidence  of  that  watchful 
care  which  is  so  endearing  to  a  wife's  heart. 

Not  the  least  among  our  enjoyments  were  our 
evenings  at  the  Caatskills.  When  warm  enough, 
promenading  on  the  ample  piazza  with  pleasant 
friends;  when  the  out-door  temperature  forbade 
this,  seated  in  the  parlors,  listening  to  merry  voices, 
looking  on  young  and  happy  faces,  or,  what  is  never 
less  beautiful,  upon  those  who,  having  reached  life's 
summit,  did  not,  for  that  reason,  churlishly  refuse 
to  cast  back  approving,  sympathizing  glances  upon 
the  young  loiterers  who  were  still  gleefully  gathering 
flowers  by  the  way. 

Then,  too,  we  had  music,  heart  music,  from  our 
German  friend ;  whose  artistic  fingers  often,  also, 
gave  harmonious  expressions  upon  the  piano  to  our 
sunrise  thoughts,  before  we  had  left  our  rooms. 
Happy  they,  whose  full  souls  can  lighten  their  secret 
burdens  by  the  low  musical  plaint,  understood  only 
by  those  who  have  themselves  loved  and  suffered  ! 


A   Trip  to  the  Caatskills.  257 

Of  how  many  tried  and  aching  hearts  has  music  been 
the  eloquent  voice  ?  The  ruffled  brow  grows  smooth 
beneath  its  influence  ;  the  angry  feeling,  calm  as  a 
wayward  child,  at  a  mother's  loving  kiss.  Joy,  like 
a  white-robed  angel,  glides  softly  in,  and  on  the  bil 
lows  of  earthly  sorrow  she  lays  her  gentle  finger, 
whispering,  "  Peace,  be  still !  " 


A  SHAM  EXPOSED. — A  great  deal  is  said  about 
young  men  "  who  are  not  able  to  marry  on  account 
of  the  extravagance  of  women,"  when  these  very 
young  men  often  spend  as  much  on  their  own  super 
fluities,  if  not  on  their  vices,  as  would  support  a 
reasonable  wife.  But  the  laugh  comes  in  here — 
that  such  young  men  don't  really  want  a  reasonable 
wife !  They  pass  by  the  industrious,  self-denying 
young  girl,  who  pluckily  resolves  not  to  let  an 
already  overtasked  father  or  brother  support  her, 
and  pay  court  to  some  be-flounced  and  be-jewelled 
pink-and-white  doll,  and  then  whine  that  they 
"  can't  get  married  to  her,  because  she  is  so  extrava 
gant."  That's  the  whole  truth  about  it;  and  when 
young  men  face  and  acknowledge  it  in  a  manly 
manner,  it  will  be  soon  enough  to  listen  to  them  on 
the  "  marriage  "  question. 
17 


THE  TEIP  TO  J3EOMPTON. 

I 

HAT  a  splendid  day  to  go  to  Brompton ! " 


^  exclaimed  Mr.  Smith,  looking  out  of  the 
open  window  and  breathing  in  the  fresh  air 
as  only  a  man  can  who  has  been  pent  up  in  a  count 
ing-room  till  his  head  feels  as  though  it  had  a  full- 
sized  windmill  going  inside.  "  Come,  wife,  pick 
up  your  traps,  and  let's  be  off ;  the  train  starts  in  an 
hour,  and  there  is  a  return-train  at  nine  this  evening; 
just  the  time  to  come  back."  Mrs.  Smith  looked 
lovingly  at  her  baby,  for  weary  as  she  was,  it  was  a 
trial  to  leave  it  behind.  Who  knew  what  perfidious 
pin  might  torture  it,- or  how  hard  it  might  sneeze 
without  even  a  sympathizing  "  coo  "  to  reassure  its 
startled  timidity.  Who  knew  but  its  milk  might 
choke  it,  or  a  window  be  left  open  that  should  be 
shut;  or  shut  that  should  be  opened.  Who  knew 
but  some  passing  fish-horn,  or  shad  distributor, 
might  scare  it  into  fits,  with  unearthly  and  pro 
longed  whooping.  Who  knew  that  it  might  not  pull 
the  sheet  over  its  face  in  its  sleep  and  smother 
itself,  or  be  laid  too  near  the  edge  of  the  bed,  and 
roll  off.  In  short,  come  to  think  of  it,  Mrs.  Smith 
felt  that  she  had  better  stay  and  attend  to  these  lit- 
tie  matters.  But  an  executive  hand  thrust  her 


The  Trip  to  Brompton.  259 

bonnet  on  her  head,  and  parasol  in  hand,  she  found 
herself  on  the  way  to  the  depot. 

It  was  pleasant,  after  one  did  finally  emerge 
from  that  smothering  depot.  The  smell  of  fresh 
earth  and  fresh-springing  grass,  and  the  birds'  song, 
and  the  vivid  green  of  the  trees,  were  all  delicious. 
Mrs.  Smith  felt  as  if  she  had  but  half  existed  for 
months,  something  as  a  buried  toad  might,  who  had 
lain  all  winter  under  a  big  cold  stone,  and  crept  out 
some  fine  morning  to  try  his  hopping  powers  in  the 
June  sunshine.  She  took  no  heed  of  the  oranges 
"  five  for  a  shillm  "  thrust  in  her  face,  nor  of  that 
dreariest  of  all  things,  "  a  comic  newspaper ;  "  nor 
packages  of  "  refined  candies  "  or  "  fig  paste,"  or 

JT  O  J  &      A 

"  Indian  moccasins,"  or  any  of  the  modern  inven 
tions  to  disturb  the  serenity  of  quiet,  reflective  trav 
ellers.  She  looked  steadily  out  of  the  window  at 
the  glimpses  of  wood,  and  water,  and  blue  sky  to  be 
seen  therefrom  •  nor  noticed  the  flirtation  on  a  side- 
seat  between  a  young  school-girl  and  her  juvenile 
beau;  nor  the  fine  bonnet  that  a  lady  in  front 
thought  it  good  taste  to  be  travelling  in.  It  was  all 
one  to  her,  while  that  sweet,  soft  wind  soothed  her 
heated  temples,  and  she  was  borne  along  without 
any  effort  of  her  own  so  deliciously.  But  all  pleas 
ures  must  have  an  end,  more's  the  pity  ;  so  had  this. 
"  Brompton  Station,"  bawled  the  conductor,  break 
ing  the  spell ;  and  with  a  conjugal  reminding  nudge 
of  Mr.  Smith's  elbow,  Mrs.  Smith  found  her  feet, 
and  alighted.  "  It  was  just  a  mile,"  so  the  depot- 
master  said,  to  the  house  where  they  were  looking 


260  The  Trip  to  Brompton. 

for  "  Summer  board."  "  Only  a  mile — let's  walk, 
then,"  said  Mrs.  Smith ;  "  what  a  nice  road,  and 
what  big  trees ;  and  how  sweet  the  air  is."  But 
alas !  Mrs.  Smith  was  mortal,  and  she  had  before 
starting  disdained  dinner.  Her  exclamations  of  de 
light  began  to  grow  fainter  as  they  proceeded,  and 
in  half  an  hour,  a  seat  on  the  top  of  a  stone  wall 
was  a  consummation  devoutly  to  be  wished.  Perch 
ed  there,  with  dangling  gaiter-boots,  Mrs.  Smith 
faintly  inquired  of  a  cow-boy,  "  how  far  to  Bromp- 
ton  ? "  "A  mile,  mum."  "  But  they  told  us  that 
at  the  station,  and  we've  ~been  a  mile,"  she  gasped. 
"  It's  a  good  piece  yet,"  he  replied,  with  a  scratch  of 
the  head.  "  Do  you  think  that  man  yonder  would 
take  me  up  in  his  cart  ? "  whispered  Mrs.  Smith 
confidentially  to  her  husband.  "  Perhaps  so,"  he  re 
plied  ;  "  but  there's  no  seat  in  it,  and  you'd  be  hor 
ribly  jdlted."  "  So  I  should — dear  me — I  shall 
know  what  '  a  mile '  is,  next  time,"  replied  Mrs. 
Smith,  as  she  rolled  like  a  bag  of  wool  from  the 
fence  to  the  ground,  and  settling  her  bonnet,  started 
again  on  her  travels.  "  Isn't  that  a  splendid  view, 
May  ? "  asked  Mr.  Smith.  "  I  suppose  so,"  replied 
his  wife.  "Oh,  John,  I'm  awful  hungry;  and  I 
cannot  go  any  farther ;  and  I  won't"  said  she,  sitting 
down  on  a  big,  flat  stone.  People  don't  always 
know  what  they  will  do ;  as  Mrs.  Smith  said  this 
she  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  went  down  the  road  with 
the  velocity  of  a  steam-engine.  The  innocent  cow, 
who  was  the  unconscious  propelling  cause,  looked  as 
much  astonished  as  Mr.  Smith ;  but  it  is  an  ill  wind 


The  Trip  to  Brompton.  261 

that  blows  nobody  good,  and  the  farm-house,  thanks 
to  that  cow,  was  finally  reached.  A  cup  of  tea, 
and  some  "  domestic  bread,"  set  all  right  with  Mrs. 
Smith.  What  was  "a  mile"  now?  ,  She  climbed 
fences,  j  ust  as  if  she  had  no  baby  at  home ;  she 
pulled  roses,  and  lilacs,  and  grasses,  and  peeped  into 
pig-sties,  and  ferreted  little  kittens  out  of  the  barn, 
and,  in  short,  one  would  scarcely  have  recognized 
her  as  the  forlorn  lady  in  the  dangling  gaiter-boots 
perched  on  a  wayside  wall.  And  so  the  afternoon 
wore  away,  and  thoughts  of  "  baby  "  began  to  clam 
or.  Just  then  appeared  Mr.  Smith,  with  a  serious 
face.  "  What  is  it  \ "  asked  his  wife,  with  that 
conjugal  free-masonry  which  beats  "  Lodges  "  all 
hollow.  "  There's  no  train  back  to-night.  May,  I 
made  a  mistake,  and  read  the  time-table  wrong ;  I'm 
sorry ;  but  it  was  nine  A.  M.,  instead  of  nine  P.  M. ; 
so  we  shall  have  to  stay  till  morning."  "  John," 
said  Mrs.  Smith,  solemnly,  "  is  there  a  freight  train 
that  goes  down  anytime  during  the  night?"  "I 
don't  know ;  I  can  ask,"  said  her  husband ;  "  but 
you  can't  go  on  a  freight-train — it  is  so  high,  that 
you  can't  step  in  or  out,  even  if  the  conductor  will 
take  you ;  and  then  there  will  be  cattle  aboard,  per 
haps,  and  you'll  be  cooped  in  a  close,  little  pen,  full 
of  tobacco-smoke; — just  think!  tobacco-smoke!" 
said  Mr.  Smith.  "  You  know  you  never  can  stand 
that,  May."  "  Just  ask  if  that  cattle-train  is  really 
going,  and  when"  replied  his  wife,  with  a  far-off 
look  in  her  eyes,  as  if  she  could  see  her  wailing 
baby  in  the  distance.  "  Well,  it  may  go  at  one  at 


262  The  Trip  to  Brompton. 

night,  and  it  may  go  at  two;  it  stops  to  take  in 
milk  for  the  city  at  the  different  stations,  and  it  is 
often  an  hour  behind  time." 

An  hour  after  this  conversation,  Mrs.  Smith  found 
herself  reclining  on  the  sofa,  in  the  parlor  of  the 
small  country  tavern,  opposite  the  depot,  which  lat 
ter  was  closed  for  the  night,  waiting  the  arrival  of 
the  "  cattle-train,"  while  Mr.  Smith  consoled  himself 
with  a  cigar  on  the  piazza.  She  was  roused  from 
a  light  nap  by  a  tap  on  the  window  ;  a  marital  nose 
was  flattened  against  the  window-pane,  through 
which  the  information  was  conveyed  her  that  she 
was  locked  in  for  the  night  and  he  was  locked  out. 

Mrs.  Smith  flattened  her  nose  against  the  window- 
pane  and  inquired,  "What  was  to  be  done?" 
"  Open  the  window,  of  course."  "  I  can't — I  don't 
understand  it.  I  can't  see  how  it  goes.  The  thing 
is  nailed  down.  It  won't  stir  an  inch."  "  Pshaw  ! 
press  your  finger  on  that  little  knob,  you  goose." 
And  the  goose  did  it ;  and  directly  a  pair  of  gaiter- 
boots  were  seen  going  through  the  window.  That 
was  nice ;  but  the  chill  river-fog  soon  began  to  pen 
etrate  cloak  and  dress,  and  slight  shivers  ensued : 
and  the  bouquet  of  roses  and  lilacs  was  thrown 
away  in  disgust,  for  both  hands  were  needed  to  fold 
her  drapery  more  closely  round.  The  sad-voiced 
"  whip-poor-will "  began  his  midnight  serenade ; 
and  puffing  bull-frogs  joined  in  the  chorus,  and 
watch-dogs  barked,  and  little  chickens  peeped,  and 
roosters  mistook  the  moonlight  for  broad  day,  and 
gave  shrill,  premature  crows — and  still  the  cattle- 


The  Trip  to  Brompton.  263 

train  came  not ;  and  Mrs.  Smith  sat  crouched  on  a 
wheelbarrow-looking  affair,  used  for  trundling  trunks 
at  the  depot,  thinking  of  "baby."  Whoo — puff — 
puff — whoo  !  "  There  it  is ;  ask  no  questions,  May, 
but  run  ahead,  and  get  in  somehow."  It  was 
"  somehow."  May  never  knew  how — for  John  and 
the  conductor  managed  it  between  them,  much  to 
the  detriment  of  skirts  and  frills,  and  May  found 
herself  in  company  with  a  kerosene  lamp  and  a 
greasy  cushion ;  and  through  the  partition  friendly 
cows  were  greeting  her;  and  the  air  was  odorous 
with  tobacco-smoke;  and  the  cars  bumped  and 
jolted  and  thumped  as  if  they  were  bewitched  ;  and 
there  was  nothing  to  hold  on  to,  or  to  lean  against ; 
and  sometimes  her  bonnet  touched  the  wall,  and 
sometimes  unexpectedly,  she  had  no  chair  under 
her ;  and  so,  at  two  in  the  morning,  this  pleasure- 
seeking  couple  were  landed  about  three  miles  from 
their  city  residence,  and  not  in  the  vicinity  of  a  liv 
ery  stable,  and  caught  by  mere  good  luck  an  infre 
quent  street  car  ;  and,  reaching  home,  counted  the 
baby's  toes  and  fingers  and  found  them  all  right ; 
and  over  their  early  coffee  laughed  at  the  "  trip  to 
Brompton." 


LAKE  GEORGE  REVISITED. 


AKE  GEORGE  has  haunted  me  since  I  saw 
it.  I  thought  to  abide  at  peace  in  mine 
easy-chair  this  summer,  but  Lake  George 
was  not  visible  from  my  windows ;  and  how  could  I 
let  the  summer  days  shine  on  its  beauty  and  I  not 
by  to  see  ?  and  then  that  glorious  Hudson !  for  a 
sight  of  which  I  am  always  longing.  There  was  no 
help  for  it ;  I  went  through  the  packing  purgatory, 
and  set  sail.  Commend  me  to  steamboat  travel 
over  and  above  all  the  cars  that  ever  screeched  under 
and  above  ground ;  but,  alas !  steamboats  have  a  draw 
back  which  cars  have  not.  You  get  a  comfortable 
seat  on  deck,  on  the  shady  side ;  in  a  chair  with  a 
~back  to  it.  You  say  this  is  pleasant,  as  you  fold 
your  hands — Ugh !  So  does  a  man,  or  a  group  of 
them  near  you,  who  have  just  lighted  their  cigars, 
or  worse,  their  pipes.  Puff — puff — puff ;  straight 
into  your  face ;  right  and  left ;  fore  and  aft.  Is 
this  the  "  fresh  air  "  for  which  you  were  travelling  ? 
You  reluctantly  change  your  place.  You  even  take 
a  seat  in  the  sun,  to  rid  yourself  of  the  smoke.  Puff 
— puff ;  another  smoker  sits,  or  stands,  near  you  ; 
you  turn  disgusted  away,  only  to  encounter  another 


Lake  George  Revisited.  265 

group,  who  evidently  regard  the  beautiful  Hudson 
only  in  the  light  of  an  enormous  spittoon. 

Now  I  protest  against  this  lack  of  decency  and 
chivalry.  If  no  other  woman  dare  brave  these 
gentlemen,  (?)  I  will,  though  I  know  well  what  an 
athemas  I  shall  incur.  I  call,  moreover,  upon  all 
decent  steamboat-captains  to  provide  a  den  for  these 
tobacco-absorbing,  tobacco-emitting  gentry,  in  some 
part  of  the  boat  where  women  are  not.  If  they 
must  smoke,  which  point  I  neither  deny  nor  admit, 
do  not  suffer  them  to  expel  ladies,  to  whom  they  are 

so  profuse  in fine  speeches — to  the  stifling  air  of 

the  ladies'  cabin,  to  avoid  it.  This  at  least  seems 
but  reasonable  and  fair.  The  only  place  where  one 
is  really  in  no  danger  of  this  nuisance  at  present  is 
in  church  ;  though  I  am  expecting  every  Sunday  to 
see  boots  on  the  tops  of  pews,  and  lighted  cigars  be 
hind  them.  Oh,  I  know  very  well  that  some  ladies 
pretend  to  "  like  it,"  because  they  had  rather  endure 
it  than  resign  the  attentions  of  a  gentleman  who 
don't  know  any  better  than  to  ask  them  "  if  it  is 
disagreeable."  Of  course^  it  is  disagreeable,  for 
women  are  clean  creatures ;  and  if  they  tell  you  it 
is  not,  know  that  they  tell  you  a  good-natured  but 
most  unmitigated  fib ;  and  you  should  be  ashamed 
of  availing  yourself  of  it  to  make  yourselves  such 
nuisances. 

That  lovely  midnight  glide  up  the  Hudson  !  Lying 
dreamly  on  one's  pillow ;  j  ust  asleep  enough  to  know 
nothing  disagreeable,  and  awake  enough  to  see  with 
half-closed  eyes  through  your  little  window  the 


266  Lake  George  Revisited. 

white  sails,  and  green  shores,  and  listen  to  the  plash 
ing  water.  Daylight  and  Albany,  with  its  noisy 
pier,  seem  an  impertinence.  "  Breakfast  ?  "  ah,  yes 
— we  are  human,  and  love  coffee ;  but  the  melan 
choly  figures  and  faces,  as  we  emerge  from  our  state 
room  !  Rosy  mouths  agape  ;  bright  eyes  half -veiled 
with  heavy  lids  ;  cloaks  and  mantles  tossed  on  with 
more  haste  than  taste  ;  hair  tumbled,  bonnets  awry. 
Pull  down  your  veils,  ladies,  and  prepare  your 
selves  for  a  general  dislocation  of  every  boneiri  your 
body,  as  you  thunder  up  to  the  hotel  in  that  omnibus, 
which  is  bound  back  again  in  exactly  three  seconds, 
for  another  hapless  cargo. 

Your  "  unprotected  female  "  is  to  be  met  every 
where.  Is  my  countenance  so  benevolent  that  she 
should  have  singled  me  out,  as  I  waited  at  the  hotel 
for  my  breakfast  ?  There  she  was — with  spectacles 
on  nose,  carpet-bag  in  hand ;  alert — nervous — dis 
tracted. 

"  Was  I  travelling  Nort^i  or  South  ?  " 

Was  it  for  want  of  coffee,  or  geography,  that  I 
curtly  replied  :  "  I  haven't  the  least  idea,  Ma'am." 

"Was  I  alone,  dear?" 

"  Husband,  Ma'am." 

"Where's  the House,  dear'?" 

"  This  is  it,  Ma'am." 

"  Lord  bless  me — I  thought  it  was  the  Depot !  " 

There  may  be  individuals  existing  who  have  not 
ridden  in  that  stage-coach  from  "  Moreau  Station  " 
to  Lake  George.  If  so,  let  him  or  her,  particularly 
her,  bear  in  mind,  in  selecting  her  attitude  on  sit- 


Lake  George  Revisited.  267 

ting  down,  that  it  is  final  and  irrevocable,  spite  of 
cramps,  for  thirteen  good  miles  of  sunny,  sandy,  up- 
and-down-hill,  bumping,  thumping  travel.  How 
ever,  there's  fun  even  in  that.  Jolts  bring  out  jokes. 
After  punching  daylight  through  the  ribs  of  one's 
neighbor,  one  don't  wait  for  an  "  introduction." 

O  * 

Your  Cologne  bottle  becomes  common  property,  also 
your  fan.  If  there  is  an  unlucky  wight  on  top, 
whose  overhanging  boots  betoken  a  due  respect  for 
the  eighth  commandment,  of  course  he  can  have  the 
refusal  of  your  sun  umbrella  to  keep  his  brains  from 
frying,  particularly  as  you  don't  know  what  to  do, 
with  it  inside.  Yes — on  the  whole,  it  is  fun  ;  but  it 
isn't  fun  to  arrive  at  a  hotel  faint,  dusty,  hungry,  and 
hear,  "  We  are  running  over,  but  we  can  feed  you 
here,  if  you'll  lodge  in  the  village."  May  do  for  men, 
groan  out  the  green  veils  ;  try  at  another  house.  Ah, 
now  it  is  OUT  turn  ;  installed  by  some  hocus-pocus  in 
two  rooms  commanding  a  magnificent  view  of  the 
lake,  we  can  afford  to  pity  hungry  wretches  who  can't 
.  get  in.  Now  we  breathe  !  Our  feet  and  arms — yes, 
they  are  all  right,  for  we  just  tried  them,  Now  we 
toss  off  our  bonnet,  and  gaze  at  those  huge  moun 
tains  and  their  dark  shadows  on  the  lake ;  now  we 
see  the  little  row-boats  glide  along,  to  the  musical, 
sparkling  dip  of  the  oar ;  now  we  hear  the  merry 
laughs  of  the  rowers,  or  perhaps  a  snatch  of  a  song 
in  a  woman's  voice.  Now  the  clear,  fresh  breeze 
sweeps  over  the  hills,  and  ruffles  the  lake,  bringing 
us  spicy  odors.  Oh,  but  this  is  delicious.  Dress  ? 
What,  here  f  No,  indeed ;  enough  of  that  in  New 


268  Lake  George  Revisited. 

York.  Who  wants  to  see  dresses  may  look  in  our 
trunks.  That  hill  is  to  be  climbed,  that  shore  to  be 
reached,  that  boat  to  be  sailed  in,  and  how  is  that  to 
be  done  if  one  "  dresses  "  ?  We  are  for  a  tramp,  a 
sail,  a  drive — anything  but  dressing. 

Lake  George  by  moonlight,  at  midnight !  oh,  you 
should  see  it,  with  its  shining,  quivering  path  of 
light,  as  if  for  angel  footsteps.  I  know  not  whether 
another  world  is  fairer  than  this ;  but  I  do  know 
that  there  are  no  sighs,  no  weary  outstretching  of  the 
hands  for  help,  no  smothered  cry  of  despair. 


SELF-HELP. — We  pity  those  who  do  not  and  never 
have  "  labored."  Ennui  and  satiety  sooner  or 
later  are  sure  to  be  their  portion.  Like  the  child 
who  is  in  possession  of  every  new  toy,  and  who  has 
snapped  and  broken  them  all,  they  stand  looking 
about  for  something — anything  new  and  amusing ; 
and  like  this  child,  they  often  stoop  to  the  mud  and 
the  gutter  for  it.  It  is  an  understood  principle  of 
human  nature,  that  people  never  value  that  which 
is  easily  obtained.  Bread  which  has  been  pur 
chased  with  unearned  money  has  never  the  flavor 
and  sweetness  of  that  which  is  won  by  the  sweat  of 
one's  own  brow. 


COOKERY  AND  TAILORING. 


male  writers  have  nothing  else  to  say 
they  fall  "  afoul "  of  all  women  for  not  be 
ing  adepts  in  cookery.  Now,  one  might  just 
as  well  insist  that  every  man  should  know  how  to 
make  his  own  trousers,  as  that  every  woman  should 
be  a  cook. 

Suppose  reverses  should  come,  and  the  man  who 
don't  know  how  should  not  be  able  to  employ  a 
tailor,  where  would  he  be  then,  not  understanding 
how  to  make  his  own  trousers  ?  And  suppose  re 
verses  should  not  come,  how  much  wiser  and  better 
for  him  to  know  practically  all  about  tailoring,  so 
that  he  might  with  knowledge  be  able  to  direct  his 
tailor?  At  present  he  thoughtlessly  steps  in  and 
recklessly  orders  them.  How  does  he  know  whether 
the  amount  of  cloth  used  is.  necessary,  or  the  con 
trary  \  How  does  he  know  that  he  isn't  swindled 
fearfully  on  buttons,  lappets,  and  facings,  and  even 
the  padding  inserted  to  make  his  rickety  figure  be 
witching  ?  I  grieve  when  I  think  of  this,  and  then 
of  his  asking  his  wife  afterward,  "  what  she  did  with 
the  twenty-five  cents  he  gave  her  yesterday  to  go 
shopping  with."  He  ought  to  be  master  of  tailoring 
in  all  its  branches,  before  he  links  his  destiny  with 


270  Cookery  and  Tailoring. 

a  woman,  or  else  he  ought  to  wear  a  cloak,  which, 
morally  speaking,  is  his  normal  condition. 

He  may  reply  that  he  don't  like  tailoring ;  that 
he  has  no  gift  for  tailoring ;  that  studying  it  ever  so 
long  he  should  only  make  a  bad  tailor,  to  spoil  the 
making  of  a  good  lawyer  or  doctor.  That's  nothing 
to  the  purpose.  I  insist  that  he  shall  learn  tailor 
ing  •  not  only  that,  but  I  insist  that  he  shall  like  it 
too.  His  lawyering  and  doctoring  can  come  in  af 
terward  wheresoever  the  gods  will,  in  the  chinks  of 
his  time,  but  breeches  and  coats  he  shall  know  how 
to  make,  or  every  editor  in  the  land  shall  be  down 
on  him  whenever  they  are  hard  up  for  an  editorial, 
if,  without  this  important  branch  of  knowledge,  he 
presumes  to  address  a  political  meeting.  For  not 
understanding  breeches,  how  the  mischief  can  he 
understand  politics,  or  be  prepared  to  speak  about 
them  ? 

He  may  tell  me  that  he  don't  intend  to  "link  his 
destiny  with  woman,"  but  instead,  to  be  a  gay  bach 
elor,  and  have  a  latch-key,  and  one  towel  a  week  at 
some  boarding-house,  and  whistle  "  Hail  Columbia" 
at  midnight,  at  his  own  sweet  will,  with  variations, 
without  the  fear  of  waking  some  wretched  baby. 
Thatfs  nothing  to  do  with  it.  I  insist  that  even 
then,  he,  being  obliged  to  wear  breeches,  should 
know  how  many  yards  of  different  width  cloth  it 
takes  to  make  them.  I  insist  that,  without  this 
knowledge,  he  is  not  even  prepared  to  be  a  bachelor. 
Nobody  can  tell,  in  this  world,  when  misfortune 
may  overtake  one.  Cigars  may  become  so  dear,  and 


Cookery  and  Tailoring.  271 

his  exchequer  so  low  in  consequence,  that  he  may  be 
obliged  to  alter  his  little  plan,  and  link  his  destiny 
to  some  woman  who  will  earn  them  for  him.  And 
.suppose  the  twins  should  afterward  interfere  writh 
her  earnings,  then  think  how  glorious  it  would  be  to 
turn  his  knowledge  of  tailoring  to  account  on  this 
conjugal  rainy  day,  and  not  only  make  his  own 
breeches,  but  those  of  the  twins,  who  would  un 
doubtedly  be  boys,  because  men  like  boys,  and 
therefore  ought  to  have  them. 

Now,  having  freed  my  mind  on  this  point,  I  pro 
ceed  to  say  that  the  brightest  and  most  gifted  women 
I  have  known  have  perfectly  understood  cookery, 
and  have  written  some  of  their  best  things  over  the 
cooking-stove,  while  they  kept  two  "  pots  boiling," 
Furthermore,  that  the  more  brains  a  woman  has,  the 
less  she  will  "look  down  upon,"  or  "despise,"  a 
knowledge  so  important  as  that  of  cookery.  But 
because  she  knows  how,  and  because  she  does  it, 
it  need  not  of  necessity  follow  that  she  "hankers 
after  it."  And  when  she  does  it,  she  should  have 
the  credit  of  doing  it ;  and  if  her  husband  be  a 
literary  man,  he  should  know  and  acknowledge — 
which  is  the  thing  he  don't  always  do — that  though 
she  resolutely  performs  her  duty  without  shirking, 
while  he  quietly  scribbles,  a  sigh  occasionally  goes 
up  chimney  with  the  smoke,  at  the  thoughts  which 
fly  up  with  it,  that  she  may  never  catch  again,  either 
for  fame  or  money.  I  say,  when  gobbling  down  the 
food  she  prepares,  or  oversees  the  preparing,  in  these 


272  Cookery  and  Tailoring. 

days  of  incompetent  servants,  he  should  sometimes 
recognize  this. 

Then  I  would  call  attention  to  the  fact  that  mar 
ried  men  should  everywhere,  and  in  all  classes,  re 
member,  that  it  is  very  discouraging  for  any  wife 
and  housekeeper,  when,  for  the  same  efficient  labor 
which  she  expends  under  her  own  roof,  she  could 
earn  for  herself  at  least  a  competence,  to  be  obliged 
to  go  as  a  beggar  to  her  husband  for  the  money  which 
is  justly  her  due.  Perhaps,  if  husbands  were  more 
just  and  generous  with  regard  to  this  matter,  women 
might  take  their  pleasure  in  "cookery,"  which 
every  man  seems  to  think  is  her  only  "through 
ticket "  to  Paradise,  and  to  their  affections,  vid  their 
stomachs. 


TAKE  A  VACATION. — It  need  not  of  necessity  be 
an  expensive  one.  Go  away,  if  only  for  a  week, 
and  shake  off  the  drudgery  of  routine.  Some  peo 
ple  are  of  the  opinion  that  upon  their  return  they 
will  find  work  all  the  more  difficult.  It  is  not  so. 
The  vacation  judiciously  spent,  and  according  to 
one's  means,  will  give  increased  strength  for  the 
performance  of  the  duties  awaiting  us.  Let  those 
who  cannot  do  this,  take  now  and  then  a  car-ride 
into  the  country,  for  a  day  of  fresh  air.  A  sight  of 
the  green  grass  and  clover-blossoms  will  do  them 
good.  Continuous,  unremitting  labor  is  not  good 
either  for  man  or  beast. 


UP  THE  HUDSON. 


SUPPOSE  nobody  is  to  blame,  but  I  feel 
indignant  every  time  I  take  a  steamboat 
sail  up  the  Hudson,  that  I  was  not  born 
a  New  Yorker.  I  am  not  particularly  fond  of 
sleeping  on  a  shelf,  or  eating  bread  and  butter  in 
that  submarine  Tophet,  called  the  "  Dining  Cabin  ; " 
were  it  not  for  these  little  drawbacks,  I  think  I 
should  engage  board  for  a  month  on  one  of  our 
Hudson  river  steamboats  (one  that  doesn't  patronize 
«  Calliopes  "). 

As  to  a  "  residence  on  the  banks  of  the  Hudson," 
do  you  think  I  would  so  sacrilegiously  and  auda 
ciously  familiarize  myself  with  its  glorious  beauty  ? 
I  decline  on  the  principle  that  the  lover,  who  had 
pleasurably  wooed  for  years,  refused  to  marry,  "  be 
cause  he  should  have  nowhere  to  spend  his  eve 
nings  ; "  where,  oh,  where,  1  ask,  should  I  spend  my 
summers  f  Yes,  a  month's  board  on  a  Hudson  river 
steamboat !  a  floating  boarding-house  !  why  not  ? 
I  claim  the  idea  as  original.  First  stipulation — 
meals  and  mattresses  on  deck,  in  fair  weather. 

What  a  curious  study  are  travellers !     How  the 

human  nature  comes  out !     There  are  your  men  and 

women,  bound  to  get  their  money's  worth,  to  the 

last  dime,  and  who  imagine  that  bullying  and  blus- 

18 


274  Up  the  .Hudson. 

ter  is  the  way,  not  only  to  do  this,  but  to  deceive 
people  into  the  belief  that  they  are  accustomed  to 
being  waited  upon  at  home.  Of  such  are  the  men 
who  wander  ceaselessly  upstairs  and  downstairs  and 
in  my  ladies'  cabin,  smoking  and  yawning,  poking 
their  walking-sticks  into  every  bundle  and  basket 
from  sheer  ennui, — and  ever  and  anon  returning  on 
deck,  suspiciously  wiping  their  mouths.  Of  such 
are  they  who  light  a  pipe  or  cigar  in  the  immediate 
proximity  of  ladies,  who  have  just  secured  a  com 
fortable  seat  on  deck,  that  they  may  revel  in  the 
much-longed-for  fresh  sea-breeze ;  dogged,  obsti 
nate,  "deil  take  the  hindmost,"  selfish,  ruffianly 
cubs,  who  would  stand  up  on  their  hind  legs  in  a 
twinkling  at  the  insinuation  that  they  were  not 
"  gentlemen." 

Yes,  there  are  all  sorts  on  board  a  steamboat ; 
there  is  your  country-woman  in  her  best  toggery ; 
fancy  bonnet,  brass  ear-rings,  and  the  inevitable 
"  locket ;  "  who,  when  the  gong  sounds,  takes  out  a 
huge  basket  to  dine  off  molasses-cake,  drop-cake, 
doughnuts,  and  cheese ;  who  coolly  nudges  some 
man  in  the  ribs  "to  lend  her  the  loan"  of  his 
jack-knife,  wherewith  she  dexterously  cuts  up  and 
harpoons  into  a  mouth  more  useful  than  ornamen 
tal,  little  square  blocks  of  "soggy"  gingerbread, 
with  a  trusting  confidence  in  the  previous  habits  of 
that  strange  jack-knife,  that  is  delicious  to  witness ! 
Then  there  are  quicksilver  little  children,  frighten 
ing  mothers  into  fits,  by  peering  into  dangerous 
places,  and  leaning  over  the  deck  into  the  water ; 


UP  THE  HUDSON. 


SUPPOSE  nobody  is  to  blame,  but  I  feel 
indignant  every  time  I  take  a  steamboat 
sail  up  the  Hudson,  that  I  was  not  born 
a  New  Yorker.  I  am.  not  particularly  fond  of 
sleeping  on  a  shelf,  or  eating  bread  and  butter  in 
that  submarine  Tophet,  called  the  "Dining  Cabin;" 
were  it  not  for  these  little  drawbacks,  I  think  I 
should  engage  board  for  a  month  on  one  of  our 
Hudson  river  steamboats  (one  that  doesn't  patronize 
"  Calliopes  "). 

As  to  a  "  residence  on  the  banks  of  the  Hudson," 
do  you  think  I  would  so  sacrilegiously  and  auda 
ciously  familiarize  myself  with  its  glorious  beauty  ? 
I  decline  on  the  principle  that  the  lover,  who  had 
pleasurably  wooed  for  years,  refused  to  marry,  "  be 
cause  he  should  have  nowhere  to  spend  his  eve 
nings  ; "  where,  oh,  where,  1  ask,  should  I  spend  my 
summers  f  Yes,  a  month's  board  on  a  Hudson  river 
steamboat!  a  floating  loqrding-liouse  !  why  not? 
I  claim  the  idea  as  original.  First  stipulation — 
meals  and  mattresses  on  deck^  in  fair  weather. 

What  a  curious  study  are  travellers !     How  the 

human  nature  comes  out !     There  are  your  men  and 

women,  bound  to  get  their  money's  worth,  to  the 

last  dime,  and  who  iniagine  that  bullying  and  blus- 

18 


274  Up  the  Hudson. 

ter  is  the  way,  not  only  to  do  this,  but  to  deceive 
people  into  the  belief  that  they  are  accustomed  to 
being  waited  upon  at  home.  Of  such  are  the  men 
who  wander  ceaselessly  upstairs  and  downstairs  and 
in  my  ladies'  cabin,  smoking  and  yawning,  poking 
their  walking-sticks  into  every  bundle  and  basket 
from  sheer  ennui, — and  ever  and  anon  returning  on 
deck,  suspiciously  wiping  their  mouths.  Of  such 
are  they  who  light  a  pipe  or  cigar  in  the  immediate 
proximity  of  ladies,  who  have  just  secured  a  com 
fortable  seat  on  deck,  that  they  may  revel  in  the 
much-longed-for  fresh  sea-breeze ;  dogged,  obsti 
nate,  "deil  take  the  hindmost,"  selfish,  ruffianly 
cubs,  who  would  stand  up  on  their  hind  legs  in  a 
twinkling  at  the  insinuation  that  they  were  not 
"gentlemen." 

Yes,  there  are  all  sorts  on  board  a  steamboat ; 
there  is  your  country-woman  in  her  best  toggery ; 
fancy  bonnet,  brass  ear-rings,  arid  the  inevitable 
'"locket ;  "  who,  when  the  gong  sounds,  takes  out  a 
huge  basket  to  dine  off  molasses-cake,  drop-cake, 
doughnuts,  and  cheese ;  who  coolly  nudges  some 
man  in  the  ribs  "to  lend  her  the  loan"  of  his 
jack-knife,  wherewith  she  dexterously  cuts  up  and 
harpoons  into  a  mouth  more  useful  than  ornamen 
tal,  little  square  blocks  of  "  soggy "  gingerbread, 
with  a  trusting  confidence  in  the  previous  habits  of 
that  strange  jack-knife,  that  is  delicious  to  witness ! 
Then  there  are  quicksilver  little  children,  frighten 
ing  mothers  into  fits,  by  peering  into  dangerous 
places,  and  leaning  over  the  deck  into  the  water ; 


"  Why  Dorit  I  Lecture  ?  "          279 

fresh  air ;  and  that  is  a  luxury  that  is  always  denied 
to  lecturers.  They'll  applaud  him,  and  they'll  ask 
him  "  what  he'll  drink,"  and  they'll  take  him  to 
execution  in  a  carriage,  and  take  his  corpse  back  in 
a  carriage,  but  they  won't  let  him  breathe,  at  least 
till  they've  done  with  him,  and  I  shouldn't  long  sur 
vive  such  politeness.  Then  the  stereotyped  pitcher 
of  water  would  close  my  lips  instead  of  helping  to 
open  them.  I  hate  a  pitcher  of  water.  I  got  a 
boxed  ear  for  saying  that  once ;  but  I've  got  two 
ears,  that's  a  comfort,  so  I'll  say  it  again.  Then,  I 
couldn't  lecture  because  I  should  feel  cold  shivers 
down  my  back,  when  that  awful  chairman  rose  and 
said,  "Ladies  and  gentlemen,  allow  me  to  introduce 
to  you  the  speaker  for  this  evening,  FANNY  FEKN." 
I  hate  that.  I  should  want  to  hop  up  and  speak 
when  I  got  ready — say — while  the  lovers  in  the 
audience  wrere  whispering  to  each  other,  and  the  old 
ladies  settling  where  to  put  their  "  umberils,"  and 
the  old  gentlemen  hunting  their  pockets  for  their 
"  spettacles  "  which  they  had  left  at  home,  and  the 
old  maids,  trying  to  find  a  seat  where  "  a  horrid 
man  "  wasn't  too  near.  I'd  like  to  pounce  on  them, 
like  a  cat,  just  then,  and  give  my  first  scratch  and 
draw  blood  ;  and  then  they'd  let  me  go  on  my  own 
way ;  because,  you  see,  I  am  one  of  those  persons 
who  can't  do-  anything  "  to  order."  I  often  see  in 
the  papers  advertisements  of  "shirts  made — to 
order,"  but  I  never  yet  saw  an  advertisement  of  a 
corresponding  female  garment  made  that  way.  Did 
you  1  Well,  that's  a  hint  that  females  shouldn't  be 


280          "  Why  Dorit  I  Lecture?  " 

hampered  by  stupid  rules  and  precedents.  But  this 
is  a  digression. 

Again,  I  couldn't  lecture  because  I  can't  bear 
saleratus,  and  I  suppose  all  my  engagements 
wouldn't  be  in  cities.  Then,  nextly,  I  couldn't  lect 
ure,  because,  after  the  lecture  was  over,  I  should  be 
"  dead  beat ; "  and  that  is  just  the  time  everybody 
would  hurry  into  the  committee-room  to  tell  me 
that  I  was;  and  to  use  a  dozen  dictionaries,  to 
advise  "me  not  to  talk,"  but  to  go  right  straight 
home  and  go  to  bed  as  soon — as  they  had  got 
through  talking  with  me  ! 

Lastly,  the  reason  I  can't  lecture  is  because  I  am 
the  wife  of  a  lecturer.  lie  likes  it ;  but  two  of  that 
trade  in  one  family  is  more  than  human  nature  can 
stagger  under.  It  is  enough  for  me  to  see  him 
come  home  white  about  the  gills,  with  a  muddy 
valise,  and  a  mousey  horror  of  a  travelling  blanket, 
that  I  always  air  the  first  thing,  and  with  an  insane 
desire  to  indulge  in  a  Rip  Van  Winkle  nap,  and 
dodge  his  kind.  Now  I  hope,  in  conclusion,  it  is 
sufficiently  clear  to  you  that  1  have  no  call  on  the 
platform.  My  "  sphere  is  home."  I  trust  Dr.  Hol 
land  will  make  a  note  of  this.  "My  sphere  is 
home"  especially  when  I'm  asked  to  do  anything 
outside  of  it  that  I  don't  want  to  do ! 


"  Why  Dorit  I  Lecture  ?  "          279 

fresh  air ;  and  that  is  a  luxury  that  is  always  denied 
to  lecturers.  They'll  applaud  him,  and  they'll  ask 
him  "  what  he'll  drink,"  and  they'll  take  him  to 
execution  in  a  carriage,  and  take  his  corpse  back  in 
a  carriage,  but  they  won't  let  him  breathe,  at  least 
till  they've  done  with  him,  and  I  shouldn't  long  sur 
vive  such  politeness.  Then  the  stereotyped  pitcher 
of  water  would  close  my  lips  instead  of  helping  to 
open  them.  I  hate  a  pitcher  of  water.  I  got  a 
boxed  ear  for  saying  that  once;  but  I've  got  two 
ears,  that's  a  comfort,  so  I'll  say  it  again.  Then,  I 
couldn't  lecture  because  I  should  feel  cold  shivers 
down  my  back,  when  that  awful  chairman  rose  and 
said,  "Ladies  and  gentlemen,  allow  me  to  introduce 
to  vyou  the  speaker  for  this  evening,  FANNY  FERN." 
I  hate  that.  I  should  want  to  hop  up  and  speak 
when  I  got  ready — say — while  the  lovers  in  the 
audience  were  whispering  to  each  other,  and  the  old 
ladies  settling  where  to  put  their  "  umberils,"  and 
the  old  gentlemen  hunting  their  pockets  for  their 
"  spettacles  "  which  they  had  left  at  home,  and  the 
old  maids  trying  to  find  a  seat  where  "  a  horrid 
man  "  wasn't  too  near.  -I'd  like  to  pounce  on  them, 
like  a  cat,  just  then,  and  give  my  first  scratch  and 
draw  blood  ;  and  then  they'd  let  me  go  on  my  own 
way ;  because,  you  see,  I  am  one  of  those  persons 
who  can't  do  anything  "  to  order."  I  often  see  in 
the  papers  advertisements  of  "shirts  made — to 
order,"  but  I  never  yet  saw  an  advertisement  of  a 
corresponding  female  garment  made  that  way.  Did 
you  ?  Well,  that's  a  hint  that  females  shouldnyt  be 


280          "Why  Don't  I  Lecture?" 

hampered  by  stupid  rules  and  precedents.  But  this 
is  a  digression. 

Again,  I  couldn't  lecture  because  I  can't  bear 
saleratus,  and  I  suppose  all  my  engagements 
wouldn't  be  in  cities.  Then,  nextly,  I  couldn't  lect 
ure,  because,  after  the  lecture  was  over,  I  should  be 
"  dead  beat ; "  and  that  is  just  the  time  everybody 
would  hurry  into  the  committee-room  to  tell  me 
that  I  was;  and  to  use  a  dozen  dictionaries,  to 
advise  "me  not  to  talk,"  but  to  go  right  straight 
home  and  go  to  bed  as  soon — as  they  had  got 
through  talking  with  me  ! 

Lastly,  the  reason  I  can't  lecture  is  because  I  am 
the  wife  of  a  lecturer.  He  likes  it ;  but  two  of  that 
trade  in  one  family  is  more  than  human  nature  can 
stagger  under.  It  is  enough  for  me  to  see  him 
come  home  white  about  the  gills,  with  a  muddy 
valise,  and  a  mousey  horror  of  a  travelling  blanket, 
that  I  always  air  the  first  thing,  and  with  an  insane 
desire  to  indulge  in  a  Rip  Van  Winkle  nap,  and 
dodge  his  kind.  Now  I  hope,  in  conclusion,  it  is 
sufficiently  clear  to  you  that  1  have  no  call  on  the 
platform.  My  "  sphere  is  home."  I  trust  Dr.  Hol 
land  will  make  a  note  of  this.  "  My  sphere  is 
home"  especially  when  I'm  asked  to  do  anything 
outside  of  it  that  I  don't  want  to  do ! 


IN  THE  CABS. 

1 ALACE  cars "  are  a  great  invention  for 
mothers  with  uneasy  babies,  for  invalids, 
and  for  lovers.  But  as  I  am  in  neither  of 
the  above  positions,  allow  me  to  express  a  prefer 
ence  for  a  seat  in  the  common  car.  If  I  am  to  eat 
in  public  out  of  my  luncheon  basket,  I  prefer  a  large 
audience,  with  their  backs  to  me,  to  a  small  one  em 
ployed  in  looking  down  my  throat.  Then  if  I  wish 
to  go  to  sleep,  again  the  audience  have  their  backs 
to  me.  Or  if  I  wish  to  read,  they  are  not  holding 
a  coroner's  inquest  on  my  politics,  or  my  literary 
taste  in  books.  Then,  again,  although  /  want  to 
pass  unnoticed,  yet  with  the  lovely  consistency  of 
human  nature  generally,  I  like  to  observe  life  around 
me,  and  have  enough  of  it  to  observe,  too. 

One  result  of  my  observations  in  this  line  has  been 
the  necessity  of  supporting  a  travelling  missionary, 
to  take  from  the  necks  of  little  children,  in  a  hot  car, 
the  woollen  mufflers  that  are  turning  their  faces 
brick  red,  and  the  woollen  mittens  that  are  driving 

7  o 

them  wild,  while  their  fond  parents  are  absorbed  in 
looking  at  illustrated  papers,  to  get  a  snatched  free 
reading  before  the  carrier  returns  for  the  same.  It  is 
very  funny  how  they  will  let  these  children  wriggle 
and  twist  and  turn,  like  little  worms,  and  never 


282  In  the  Cars. 

think  that  anything  can  be  the  matter,  save  a  lack 
of  peanuts  or  painted  lozenges,  which  they  procure 
with  a  fiendish  haste,  and  bestow  with  a  profusion 
astounding  to  gods  and  some  women.  Presently  the 
little  victims  call  for  "  a  drink  of  water,"  as  well 
they  may,  with  their  feverish  throats  and  mouths ; 
but  that  only  makes  matters  worse ;  so,  by  way  of 
assuagement,  a  wedge  of  mince-pie  is  added,  or  a 
huge  doughnut,  supplemented  by  parched  corn. 

"  Ye  gods !  "  I  mentally  exclaim ;  and  yet  we 
keep  on  sending  " missionaries  to  the  heathen"  I 
am  not  there  at  the  journey's  end  to  see  how  those 
children's  ears  are  boxed  for  growing  devilish  on 
such  fare,  but  I  know  it  is  done  all  the  same  by 
these  ignorant  parents.  It  is  refreshing  occasionally 
to  hear  a  father  or  mother  say  to  a  child,  "  If  you 
are  hungry,  you  can  eat  this  nice  piece  of  bread  and 
butter,  or  this  bit  of  chicken,  but  you  must  not  eat 
nuts,  candy,  pastry,  and  cake,  when  you  are  trav 
elling."  It  is  refreshing  to  hear  one  say,  "  Eat 
slowly,  dear."  It  is  refreshing  to  see  one  take  off  a 
child's  hat  or  cap,  and  lay  the  little  owner  comfort 
ably  down  for  the  little  nap,  instead  of  letting  the 
child  bob  its  tired,  heated  head  vainly  in  every  di 
rection  for  rest.  Now  papa  understands  well  enough 
in  his  own  case  what  to  do,  in  the  way  of  allevia 
tion  ;  but  children  are  bundled  up  like  so  many 
packages,  on  starting — labelled,  ticketed — and,  like 
these  packages,  not  to  be  untied  through  any  diver 
sities  of  temperature  till  the  bumping  journey's  end. 


In  the  Cars.  283 

It  is  monstrous !  I  am  glad  they  kick  all  night  af 
ter  it-— if  so  be  their  parents  sleep  with  them  ! 

But  isn't  it  great,  when,  in  addition  to  all  these  in 
flictions,  a  book- vender  comes  round  and  tries  to 
make  you  buy  one  of  your  own  books  ?  That  is 
the  last  ounce  on  the  camel's  back !  How  all  its 
shortcomings  and  crudenesses  come  up  before  you ! 
How  all  its  "  Errata ! "  How  short  you  cut  that 
wretched  boy  in  his  parrot  panegyric !  How  you 
perspire  with  disgust  till  he  takes  it  out  of  your 
sight  and  hearing,  and  how  you  pray  "  just  Heaven" 
to  forgive  you  for  your  sins  of  commission,  all  for 
bread  and  butter. 

Now — as  the  story  writers  say  when  they  drag  in 
a  moral  by  the  head  and  shoulders,  at  the  end  of 
their  narratives — "my  object  is  accomplished,  if 
the  perusal  of  this,  etc.,  shall  have  induced  but  one 
reader  to  reform,  and  lead  a  different  life !  " 

So  I  say,  if  only  one  wretched  little  young  one 
gets  his  dangling  legs  put  up  on  the  seat ;  or  his  hot 
woollen  tippet  unwound  from  his  strangled  neck,  or 
is  refused  candy  and  lozenges,  or  is  fed  wholesomely 
at  proper  intervals,  instead  of  keeping  up  a  contin 
uous  chewing  all  through  the  day;  or  don't  get 
spanked  afterward  for  the  inevitable  results ;  or  if 
I  have  dissuaded  but  one  individual  from  buying  a 
book  with  "  Fern  "  on  its  covers,  my  object  will  have 
been  accomplished! 


PETTING. 

the  course  of  my  reading,  I  came  upon 
this  sentence  the  other  day  : 

"I  have  thought  a  great  <Jeal  lately  upon  a  kind 
of  petting  women  demand,  that  does  not  seem  to  me  whole 
some  or  well.  Even  the  strongest  women  require  perpetual  in 
dorsement,  or  they  lose  heart.  Can  they  not  be  strong  in  a  pur 
pose,  though  it  bring  neither  kiss  nor  commendation  ?  " 

It  seems  ,to  me  that  this  writer-  cannot  have  passed 
out  of  sight  of  her  or  his  own  chimney,  not  to 
have  seen  the  great  army  of  women,  wives  of 
drunken  and  dissipated  husbands,  who,  not  only 
lacking  "kiss  and  commendation,"  but  receiving 
in  place  of  them  kicks  and  blows,  and  profane 
abuse,  keep  steadily  on,  performing  their  hard,  in 
exorable  duties  with  no  human  recognition  of  their 
heroism.  Also,  there  are  wives,  clad  in  purple  and 
fine  linen,  quite  as  much  to  be  pitied,  whose  hus 
bands  are  a  disgrace  to  manhood,  though  they  them 
selves  may  fail  in  no  wifely  or  motherly  duty. 
Blind  indeed  must  that  person  be  who  fails  to  see 
all  this  every  hour  in  the  twenty-four. 

So  much  for  the  truth  of  the  remark.  Now  as 
to  "petting."  That  woman  is  no  woman — lacks 
woman's,  I  had  almost  said,  chiefest  charm — who 
does  not  love  to  be  "  petted."  The  very  women  who 


Petting.  285 

stifle  their  hearts'  cries,  because  it  is  vain  to  listen 
for  an  answer  where  they  had  a  sacred  right  to  look 
for  it,  and  go  on  performing  their  duty  all  the  same 
— if  it  be  their  duty— are  the  women  who  most  long 
for  "petting,"  and.  who  best  deserve  it  too;  and  I, 
for  one,  have  yet  to  learn,  that  it  is  anything  to  be 
ashamed  of.  If  so,  men  have  a  great  sin  on  their 
souls  ;  for  they  cannot  get  along  at  all — the  major 
ity  of  them — without  this  very  sort  of  bolstering  up. 

Read  any  of  the  thousand  and  one  precious  books 
on  "  Advice  to  Women,"  and  you  will  see  how  we 
are  all  to  be  up  to  time  on  the  front  door-step,  ready 
to  u  smile "  at  our  husbands  the  minute  the  poor 
dears  come  home,  lest  they  lose  heart  and  doubt  our 
love  for  them ;  better  for  the  twins  to  cry,  than  the 
husband  and  father.  Just  so  with  advice  to  young 
girls.  They  must  always  be  on  hand  to  mend  rips 
in  their  brothers'  gloves  and  tempers,  and  cod 
dle  them  generally ;  but  I  have  yet  to  see  the  book 
which  enjoins  upon  brothers  to  be  chivalric  and 
courteous  and  gentlemanly  to  their  sisters,  as  they 
take  pleasure  and  pride  in  being  to  other  young 
men's  sisters. 

"  There  is  a  time  for  everything,"  the  good  Book 
says,  and  so  there  is  a  time  and  place  to  be  "  petted." 
None  of  us  want  it  in  public.  In  fact,  the  men  and 
women  guilty  of  it  render  themselves  liable  to  the  sus 
picion  of  only  being  affectionate  in  public.  But  de 
liver  me  from  the  granite  woman  who  prefers  to 
live  without  it,  who  prides  herself  on  not  wanting  it. 
I  wouldn't  trust  her  with  my  baby  were  there  a 


286  Petting. 

knife  handy.  Thank  God  there  are  few  such.  The 
noblest  and  greatest  and  best  women  I  have  ever 
known,  have  been  big-hearted  and  loving,  and  have 
known  how  to  pet  and  be  "  petted,"  without  losing 
either  strength  or  dignity  of  character. 


FACING  A  THIN  CONGREGATION. — It  is  compara 
tively  easy  for  a  clergyman  to  preach  to  a  full  au 
dience  ;  but  the  test  which  shows  whether  one's 
heart  is  in  his  work,  is  to  get  up  and  face  a  thin 
congregation,  and  yet  deliver  his  message  with  an 
earnestness  which  shows  that  he  has  a  realizing 
sense  of  the  value  of  even  one  soul.  Only  that 
clergyman  who  keeps  this  at  all  times  in  view,  can 
BO  utterly  leave  himself  out  of  consideration,  that 
he  will  be  just  as  eloquent  and  just  as  earnest  when 
speaking  to  a  thin  audience,  as  if  he  were  address 
ing  a  large  multitude,  from  whose  eager,  upturned 
faces  he  might  well  draw  inspiration. 


MY  GRIEVANCE. 

>ME  jilted  bachelor  has  remarked  that  "no 
woman  is  happy  unless  she  has  a  grievance." 
Taking  this  view  of  the  case,  it  seems  to  me 
that  men  generally  deserve  great  praise  for  their 
assiduity  in  furnishing  this  alleged  requisite  of  fem 
inine  felicity.  But  that  is  not  what  I  was  going  to 
talk  about.  I  have  "  a  grievance."  My  fly  has 
come !  I  say  my  fly,  because,  as  far  as  I  can  find 
out,  he  never  goes  to  anybody  else ;  he  is  indif 
ferent  to  the  most  attractive  visitor  ;  what  he  wants 
is  me — alas !  me — only  me  !  The  tortures  I  have 
endured  from  that  creature,  no  pen,  tongue,  or  dic 
tionary  can  ever  express.  His  sleepless,  untiring, 
relentless  persecution  of  a  harmless  female  is  quite 
fiendish.  His  deliberate  choice,  and  persistent  re 
tention  of  agonizing  titillating  perches,  shows  a 
depth  of  "  strategy  "  unequalled  in  one  so  young. 
Raps,  slaps,  exclamations  not  in  the  hymn-book,  hand 
kerchief  waving,  sudden  startings  to  the  feet — what 
do  they  all  avail  me  ?  He  dogs  me  like  a  bailiff, 
from  one  corner  of  the  room  to  another.  All  the 
long,  hot  day  he  attends  my  steps ;  all  night  he 
hovers  over  my  couch,  ready  for  me  at  the  first  glim 
mer  of  daybreak.  The  marvellous  life-preserving 
way  he  has  of  dodging  instant  and  vengeful  annihi- 


288  My  Grievance. 

lation,  would  excite  my  admiration,  were  not  all  my 
faculties  required  to  soothe  my  nose  after  his  re 
peated  visits.     In  vain  I  pull  my  hair  over  my  ears 
to  shield  them.     In  vain  I  try  to  decoy  him  into 
saucers  of  sweet  things  while  I  write.     Down  goes 
my  pen,  while  my  hands  fly  like  the  wings  of  a 
windmill  in  the  vain  attempt  to  dislodge  him  per 
manently.     In  vain  I  open  the  door,  in  the  hope  he 
may  be  tempted  out.     In  vain  I  seat  myself  by  the 
open  window,  trusting  he  will  join  the  festive  throng 
of  happy  Christian  flies,  whizzing  in  the  open  air  in 
squads,  and  harming  nobody.     If  he  would  only  go, 
you  know,  I  would  clap  down  my  window,  and  die 
of  stifling,  rather  than  of  his  harrowing   tickling. 
See  there !  he  goes  just  near  enough  to  raise  my 
hopes,  and  then  lights  on  the  back  of  my  neck.     I 
slap  him — he  retires  an  instant — I  throw  my  slipper 
after  him — it  breaks  my  Cologne  bottle,  and  he 
conies  back  and  alights  on  my  nostril.    Look  !  here ! 
I'm   getting  mad;  now  I'll  just  sit   calmly  down 
in  that   arm-chair,  and  fix   my  eyes  on   that  Ma 
donna,  and  let  him  bite.   Some  time  he  will  surely  get 
enough,  and  now  I'll  just  stand  it  as  long  as  he  can. 
Heavens!  110,  I  can't;  he  is  inside  my  ear  !     Now, 
as  I'm  a  sinner,  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do.     Good ! 
I'll  go  a  journey,  and  lose  him !     I'll  go  to  Lake 
George.   Saints  and  angels,  don't  he  follow  me  there 
too?     To  Niagara — do  the  rapids  rid  me  of  him? 
To  the  White  Mountains?     Don't  he  ascend  with 
me  ?     To  the  sea-shore  ?  -  Is  he  afraid  of  the  seventh 


My  Grievance.  289 

wave  ?  Look  here  !  a  thought  strikes  me.  Do  you 
suppose  that  %  would  cross  Jordan  with  me  ?  for 
I  can't  stand  this  thing  much  longer. 


STANDING  ALONE — Thank  Heaven,  I  can  stand 
alone !  Can  you  ?  Are  you  yet  at  the  end  of  your 
life  journey?  Have  you  yet  stood  over  the  dead 
body  of  wife  or  child,  snatched  from  you  when  life 
was  at  the  flood-tide  of  happiness  ?  Did  you  ever 
close  your  weary  eyes  to  the  bright  dawn  of  a  new 
day,  and  pray  that  you  might  never  live  to  look  at 
another?  If  a  woman,  did  you  ever  face  poverty 
where  luxury  had  been,  and  vainly  look  hither  and 
thither  for  the  summer  friends  that  you  would  never 
see  again  till  larder  and  coffer  were  replenished? 
Are  you  sure,  when  you  boast  that  you  can  "  stand 
alone,"  that  you  have  learned  also  how  to  fall 
alone  f 
19 


CEMETERY  MUSINGS. 
HEN  I  am;  in  a  new  place  I  always  stroll 


^  into  its  principal  cemetery.  I  fancy  that 
L  the  average  age  of  the  dead  tells  its  own 
story  of  the  healthfnlness  of  the  neighborhood,  or 
the  contrary.  The  style  of  monumental  inscription 
is  also  a  good  test  of  its  educational  and  moral  prog 
ress.  One  delicious  morning  in  July,  I  passed 
through  the  gateway  of  the  beautiful  cemetery  in 
the  town  of .  Little  birds  were  pluming  them 
selves  on  the  moss-grown  tombstones,  or  alighting, 
with  eye  askance,  on  the  pathway  before  me,  or 
swaying  on  some  light  branch  and  singing  as  if 
there  were  no  such  thing  as  sorrow  or  death  in  this 
bright  world;  while  the  sunbeams  slanted  down 
through  the  trees,  touching  the  half-effaced  inscrip 
tions,  as  if  lovingly,  for  the  "  stranger  within  the 
gate."  Now  and  then  one  heard  the  click  of  the 
chisel,  as  some  new  name  was  being  added  to  those 
already  inscribed  there  ;  while  in  the  distance  the 
mowers^were  busy,  scythe  in  hand,  laying  low  the 
tall  grass,  as  they  carefully  touched  the  many  graves, 
and  recited  little  homely  histories  of  those  whom  the 
Great  Reaper  had  garnered.  Little  children  were 
playing  innocently  about,  with  eyes  like  gems,  and 
flowing  locks,  and  graceful,  gliding  steps,  now  and 


Cemetery  Musings.  291 

then  stooping  to  inhale  the  flowers,  or  spell  out  with 
pretty  blunders  a  passing  inscription.  Go  not  there, 
my  little  ones — that  inscription  is  not  for  you — your 
God  is  love.  Into  His  hand  yours  is  now  placed 
confidingly,  lead  wheresoever  He  may,  to  fall  asleep 
on  His  bosom  in  His  own  good  time.  Why  should 
you  read,  "  Prepare  each  day  the  funeral  shroud." 
Why  should  you  fetter  your  simple,  sweet  faith  in 
"  Our  Father  "  by  chains  of  fear,  through  which, 
all  your  lifetime,  you  "  should  be  subject  to  bond 
age  "  ?  Why  for  you  should  skulls  be  disinterred 
and  dry  bones  held  up  to  startle  and  affright  ?  Step 
away,  little  children.  Think  not  of  "  shrouds  "  and 
"  coffins  ;  "  this  is  the  lesson  He  taught  you  :  "  Little 
children,  love  one  another."  When  He  giveth  His 
beloved  sleep,  neither  you  nor  I  shall  know,  nor 
does  it  matter. 

And  as  I  moved  through  this  lovely  place,  breath 
ing  of  beauty,  and  balm,  and  the  song  of  birds,  and 
the  scent  of  flowers,  I  said  to  myself,  Oh  why,  when 
the  warm,  throbbing  heart  of  life  is  so  slow  to  com 
prehend  the  unseen,  and  so  tenaciously  clings  to  the 
things  seen,  should  it  have  hindrance,  instead  of 
help,  in  its  efforts  to  spell  out  immortality  !  Why 
fetter  it  from  childhood  with  those  gloomy  clogs 
and  burdens  \  How  many  good  men  and  good 
women  have  struggled  vainly  through  a  lifetime 
with  these  physical,  funereal  terrors.  And  so  I 
turned  away  to  the  graves  of  the  "  Little  Annies  " 
and  "Little  Freddys,"  where  love  had  placed  its 
freshly  gathered  flowers,  and  said  :  "  This  is  wiser  ; 
this  is  better." 


THE  SCRUBBING-BRUSH  MANIA. 


ID  you  ever  see  a  woman  who  was  possessed 
by  the  house-cleaning  fiend  ?  Not  periodi 
cally,  but  at  all  times.  Who  would  go 
about  drawing  her  finger  over  every  lounge,  and 
table,  and  chair,  speering  into  cracks  and  crannies 
for  crooked  pins  and  lint ;  holding  tumblers  up  to 
the  light  for  finger  marks ;  in  short,  so  utterly  ab 
sorbed  in  the  pursuit  of  dirt  that  every  other  pur 
suit  was  as  nothing  in  comparison. 

Now,  being  New  England  born,  I  know  what 
neatness  is,  and  value  it  as  only  a  New  Englander 
can  ;  but  when  it  takes  such  shape  as  this,  and  robs 
life  of  all  its  charms,  I  turn  my  back  upon  it  with 
righteous  disgust.  Who  thanks  these  zealous  furies 
for  their  self-imposed  labors?  Certainly  not  their 
husbands,  who  flee  into  remote  corners  from  dust 
pans  and  dust-brushes,  and  weary  of  the  recitals  of 
their  prowess  day  by  day.  Certainly  not  their  chil 
dren,  who  have  no  place  to  stow  away  their  little 
sacred  property  in  the  shape  of  bright  bits  of  silk  or 
paper,  or  broken  cups,  which  are  dear  and  precious 
to  them,  and  should  always  be  held  in  respect  with 
in  proper,  innocent  limits. 

Oh,  ye  careful  and  troubled  Marthas  of  the  house- 


The  Scrubbing-brush  Mania.        293 

hold,  stop  and  take  breath.  Place  a  flower  on  the 
mantel,  that  you  and  your  household  may  perhaps 
have  some  in  their  lives.  While  you  stop  to  rest, 
read.  So  shall  the  cobwebs  be  brushed  from  your 
neglected  brain,  and  you  shall  learn  that  something 
else  besides  cleanliness  is  necessary  to  make  home 
really  home  for  those  dependent  on  your  care. 

Throw  your  broom  out  of  doors  ;  take  your  chil 
dren  by  the  hand,  and  let  the  fresh  wind  touch  your 
wrinkled  forehead.  If  your  house  is  wound  up  to 
such  an  immaculate  pitch  of  cleanliness,  it  can  run 
on  a  few  hours  without  your  care.  Laugh  and  talk 
with  them,  or  better  still,  listen  to  their  foolish-wise 
talk.  Bring  home  a  bit  of  gingerbread  for  each  of 
them,  and  play  some  simple  game  with  them.  Put 
on  the  freshest  dress  you  have,  and  ask  your  hus 
band,  when  he  comes  in,  if  he  recognizes  his  wife. 

"  I  wish  my  mother  looked  as  pretty  as  you,"  said 
a  little  girl,  one  day,  to  a  neighbor. 

"  But  your  mamma  is  much  prettier  than  I,"  re 
plied  the  neighbor.  The  truth  was  that  the  child's 
mother  always  was  in  a  wrapper,  unless  company 
was  expected.  The  rest  of  the  time  she  was  under 
the  dominion  of  the  house-cleaning  fiend,  and  the 
children  fled  from  such  a  joyless  utilitarian  home, 
where  no  flower  of  beauty  could  ever  get  time  to 
take  root  and  blossom. 

There  is  little  need  to  misinterpret  my  meaning. 
Many  a  ruined  life  has  come  of  a  joyless  home. 
Your  children  take  to  the  sunlight  as  naturally  as 
do  the  flowers.  Shut  it  out  of  your  houses  and  they 


294        The  Scrubbing-brush  Mania. 

will  go  abroad  in  searcli  of  it,  you  may  be  sure 
of  that.  Isn't  this  worth  thinking  about,  O  ye 
mothers  ?  careful  and  troubled  about  many  things, 
and  yet  so  blind  to  your  first  and  greatest  duty. 


CO-OPERATIVE  HOUSEKEEPING. — When  the  millen 
nium  comes,  or  when  women  stand  by  one  another 
as  men  do — though  I'm  free  to  say,  the  reason  why 
men  do  it  is,  that  when  one  man  does  anything  bad, 
all  the  rest  defend  him,  because  they  dorit  know 
but  they  may  want  to  do  it  too — but,  as  I  was  say 
ing,  when  women  will  stand  by  each  other,  then  we 
will  talk  about  "  Co-operative  Housekeeping."  Or, 
when  men  will  help  their  wives  out  of  scrapes  with 
other  women,  instead  of  running  away,  or  "pooh- 
poohing  "  it,  then  we  will  talk  about  a  dozen  fami 
lies  living  in  one  house.  At  present  Mrs.  Smith's 
boy  John  will  slap  your  little  Sarah  in  the  face, 
just  to  show  her  that  he  is  going  to  be  a  man  some 
day.  Now,  there's  but  one  common  staircase,  and 
little  Sarah  can't  go  up  and  down  after  that  without 
a  body-guard ;  and  Johnny's  pa  and  your  daughter 
Sarah's  pa  are  business  friends,  and  "  What  are  you 
going  to  do  about  it?"  coolly  asks  Sarah's  pa,  of 
Sarah's  irritated  ma. 

That's  the  idea ;  and  Co-operative  Housekeeping, 
allow  me  to  tell  you,  is  planned  by  bachelors  and 
single  ladies,  and  to  them  we'll  leave  it. 


SAUCE  FOE  THE  GANDER. 


VERY  written  or  spoken  sentence,  not  calcu 
lated  to  benefit  mankind,  carries  with  it,  I 
verily  believe,  its  own  antidote  in  the  shape 
of  narrowness  and  bigotry. 

This  comforting  thought  occurred  to  me  on  leav 
ing  a  lecture  hall  the  other  evening,  where  the 
speaker,  in  saying  some  very  good  things,  had  men 
tioned  all  female  employments,  save  housekeeping, 
especially  those  of  writing  and. lecturing,  with  utter 
contempt,  averring  that  the  education  and  training 
of  children  were  the  only  things  worthy  their  notice. 
He  did  not  stop  to  explain  what  was  to  become  of 
all  the  old  maids  and  single  women  generally ;  or 
whether  they  might  be  excused  for  earning  an  hon 
est  support  by  pen  and  ink,  or  even  stepping  upon 
the  platform,  when  they  had  no  "  home,"  and  con 
sequently  no  "  home  duties  "  to  attend  to ;  and  whe 
ther,  if  the  lecture  they  should  deliver  were  as 
narrow  and  illogical  as  his  own,  the  patient  public 
might  not,  as  in  his  case,  be  willing  iopay  and  lis 
ten.  Also,  while  insisting  upon  every  woman  being 
a  mother,  and  desiring  nothing  beyond  her  nursery 
walls,  not  even  her  own  intellectual  progression,  to 
qualify  her  to  meet  the  questioning  youth,  as  well 


296  Sauce  for  the  Gander. 

as  the  dependent  infancy  of  her  children,  I  heard 
not  one  syllable  from  him  upon  the  home  duty  de 
volving  on  the  father  and  the  husband,  as  to  his 
Bhare  in  their  government  and  home  education, 
which,  in  my  opinion,  is  more  important  than  that 
of  school ;  nor  of  the  cultivation  of  his  companion 
able  qualities,  to  assist  in  making  home  pleasant. 
Not  a  word  did  he  say  on  this  head,  no  more  than 
as  if  these  things  were  not  binding  equally  on  him 
as  on  the  wife.  As  if  that  could  be  "  home,"  in  any 
true  sense,  where  loth  did  not  know  and  practise 
these  duties.  He  told  us  it  was  "  of  course  more 
pleasant  for  women  to  be  like  the  noisy  cascade,  and 
to  mount  the  platform,  than  to  imitate  the  gentle, 
silent  rivulet,  and  stay  quietly  at  home  out  of  the 
public  eye."  As  the  lecturer  had  a  home  himself, 
and  was  a  husband  and  father,  and  not  particularly 
in  need  of  any  emolument  from  lecturing,  it  oc 
curred  to  me  that  the  propriety  of  his  own  absence 
from  the  "  gentle  rivulet "  of  home  duties  might 
admit  of  a  doubt.  It  could  not  be  possible  that  he 
who  could  map  out  a  wife's  home  duty  by  such 
strict  latitude  and  longitude,  should  himself  have 
wearied  of  their  tameness,  and  "  mounted  the  plat 
form  to  keep  in  the  public  eye." 

What  nonsense  even  a  male  lecturer  may  utter  ! 
said  I,  as  I  left  his  presence.  As  if  there  were  no 
women,  good  and  earnest  as  well  as  gifted,  who 
neglected  no  duties  while  mounting  the  platform, 
but  who  honored  it  with  their  womanly,  dignified 
presence,  and  made  every  large-souled,  large-brained 


Sauce  for  the  Gander.  297 

man  who  listened  to  them  rejoice  that  they  were 
there. 

This  "  vine  and  oak "  style  of  talk  is  getting 
monotonous.  There  is  more  "  oak  "  to  the  women 
of  to-day  than  there  was  to  those  of  the  past.  Else 
how  could  the  great  army  of  drunken,  incompetent, 
unpractical,  idle  husbands  be  supported  as  they  are 
by  wives,  who  can't  stop  to  be  "  gentle,  silent  rivu 
lets,"  but  have  to  "keep  in  the  public  eye"  as 
business  women  ?  Our  lecturer  didn't  mention  this 
little  fact — not  he  ! 


LEAVING  HOME  FOR  THE  SUMMER. — There  is  al 
ways  a  certain  sadness  in  leaving  home  for  the 
pleasant  summer  jaunt  in  the  country,  however  glad 
we  may  be  to  get  rid  of  our  cares.  As  we  close  the 
door  and  turn  the  key,  the  thought  will  come : 
Shall  we  ever  see  this  home  again  ?  Have  we  really 
left  it,  not  only  for  a  time,  but  forever  ?  Of  course, 
new  scenes  and  new  objects  soon  dissipate  these 
thoughts ;  and  it  is  well  it  is  so,  or  we  should  not 
gain  the  relief  we  seek;  but  we  doubt  if  the 
thought  does  not  obtrude  itself  for  the  moment, 
even  in  the  case  of  the  most  habitually  thoughtless. 


MY  FIRST  CONVERT. 

HAVE  just  received  a  letter  from  a  soldier, 
who  was  with  us  in  our  late  four-years 
struggle  for  the  "Stars  and  Stripes,"  an 
nouncing  himself  a  convert  to  the  renunciation  of 
tobacco,  through  my  ministrations  on  this  subject. 
He  says  that  "  he  has  to  thank  me  for  the  kind 
encouragement  I  have  held  out  to  him  to  persevere 
in  this  resolve,  and  for  the  freedom  he  enjoys,  now 
that  he  is  no  longer  a  slave  to  that  filthy  habit ;  and 
that  he  shall,  while  he  lives,  hold  me  in  grateful 
remembrance  for  the  same." 

Now  that's  encouraging,  even  though  I  shouldn't 
add  another  member  to  my  congregation.  If  any 
other  "  brother  "  feels  like  "  speaking  out  in  meetin ' " 
and  relating  a  similar  experience,  so  much  the  bet 
ter  ;  but  in  any  event  I  shall  not  cease  doing  my 
best  to  make  proselytes.  "  You  ought  to  let  up  on 
a  poor  fellow  a  little,"  said  a  smoker  to  me  not  long 
since;  "you  ought  to  have  a  little  charity  for  a 
fellow."  Now  I  don't  think  that.  My  charity  is 
for  those  who  silently  suffer  from  this  selfish  indul 
gence.  For  the  poor  girls,  who  stand  on  their 
weary  feet  hours  behind  the  counters  of  shops, 
where  the  master  sits  with  his  feet  up,  smoking  till 
their  poor  heads  ache,  and  their  cheeks  crimson 


My  First  Convert.  299 

with  the  polluted  air,  roaring  for  them  to  shut  the 
door  or  window  if  they  so  much  as  open  a  crevice 
for  relief.  My  charity  is  for  myself,  when,  seated 
in  a  car  or  omnibus,'  some  "  gentleman "  who  has 
just  thrown  away  his  cigar  stump,  places  himself 
next  to  me,  and  compels  me  to  inhale  his  horrible 
breath  and  touch  his  noxious  coat-sleeve.  My  char 
ity  is  for  myself,  when  Mike  O'Brien,  who  is  in  my 
cellar,  getting  in  coal,  sits  down  on  the  top  of  it,  lights 
his  pipe,  and  sends  up  the  nasty  fumes  into  the  parlor 
and  all  over  the  house.  My  charity  is  for  myself, 
when  the  proofs  of  my  forthcoming  book  are  sent  me 
to  read,  to  be  obliged  to  hang  them  out  of  the  window, 
like  signals  of  distress,  before  I  can  correct  them 
without  absolute  nausea.  Nor  am  I  to  be  mollified 
by  the  sample-package  of  "  Fanny  Fern  Tobacco  " 
once  sent  me.  Now  I  felt  complimented,  when  a 
little  waif  of  a  black  baby,  picked  up  in  the  streets 
of  a  neighboring  city,  was  named  for  me  ;  also  when 
a  hand -cart  was  christened  ditto  ;  also  a  mud-scow  ; 
but  tobacco — excuse  me  ! 

I  read  in  a  paper,  the  other  day,  of  an  ancient 
institution  called  "  smoking-tongs,"  constructed  to 
hold  a  live  coal  so  securely,  as  to  admit  of  its  being 
passed  round  the  room  ;  women,  at  that  time,  as  an 
act  of  hospitality,  used  to  approach  their  male  guests 
with  the  same,  and  light  their  pipes  for  them.  I 
should  have  liked  to  have  had  that  office ;  but  I 
dorft  think  I  should  have  applied  the  live  coal  to 
the  pipes  ! 


CO  UNTE  Y  HO  USE  WIVES. 


THINK  that  between  country  housewives 
and  their  city  boarders  there  is  a  sort  of  an 
tagonism,  in  the  very  nature  of  things,  in 
tensified,  of  course,  when  there  is  unreasonableness 
on  both  sides. 

The  country  housewife  rises  betimes,  and  betaking 
herself  to  a  hot  kitchen,  either  prepares  or  oversees 
the  preparing  of  the  expected  breakfast ;  and  this 
not  only  for  the  boarders,  but  the  "  help,"  men  and 
women,  belonging  to  the  establishment.  Perhaps 
her  husband,  regarding  her  only  in  the  light  of  a 
"  farm  hand,"  never  speaks  to  her  except  on  topics 
relating  to  the  business  of  the  household,  and  objects 
to  the  baby  crying,  which  her  diverted  attention 
necessitates,  as  a  "  nuisance,"  while  he  swallows  his 
breakfast. 

Heated  and  worried,  she  sees  her  city  boarders 
come  down  to  breakfast  in  cool  dresses  and  fresh 
ribbons,  to  enjoy  the  result  of  her  toil,  perhaps  to 
find  fault  with  it.  She  sees  them  after  break 
fast  driving  out  to  enjoy  the  delicious  morning  air, 
while  she  must  iron  clothes,  or  wash  dishes,  or  pre 
pare  their  dinner.  Now  don't  you  see  in  the  differ 
ing  positions  of  the  two  parties  material  for  an  ex- 


Country  Housewives.  301 

plosion  ?  It  is  no  use  to  reply,  if  they  had  each 
attained  a  proper  and  high  degree  of  civilization 
there  would  be  no  need  of  this.  Remember  you 
have  to  take  human  nature  as  you  find  it,  and  not 
as  you  wish  to  find  it.  Incessant  toil  coarsens  and 
roughens,  especially  woman  nature.  It  chokes  the 
graces  in  the  bud,  and  leaves  only  thorns  and  prick 
ers.  From  my  heart  I  pity  such  women,  with  not  a 
flower  in  their  desert  lives.  Still,  you  know  city 
boarders  had  not  the  ordering  of  it ;  and  should  not, 
as  they  often  are,  be  disliked  merely  for  being  able 
to  lead  a  life  of  comparative  ease.  Ease  does  not 
always  involve  happiness;  remember  this,  discour 
aged  country  housewife.  Somebody  has  had  to  work 
hard  for  that  ease,  and  it  may  be  the  very  woman 
you  envy  and  dislike  for  it.  She  has  her  Geth- 
semane  with  it,  of  which  you  know  nothing,  though 
she  wear  a  smiling  face.  The  landscape  upon  which 
she  gazes  may  bring  tears  to  her  eyes  instead  of  joy 
to  her  heart,  as  she  drives  away  from  your  door, 
where  you  stand  thinking  of  her  only  as  a  heartless 
idler  for  whom  you  are  to  toil. 

Could  you  sit  down  together,  woman  and  woman, 
and  talk  this  all  over,  how  different  often  would  be 
your  judgment  of  each  other !  She  thinks,  perhaps, 
of  graves  far  away,  or  worse,  living  sorrows,  which 
she  cannot  forget,  and  that  will  not  bear  thinking 
of,  and  may  only  be  poured  into  the  ear  of  "  Our 
Father."  She  has  learned  to  shut  them  in,  and 
therefore  you  see  no  sign ;  but  they  are  there  all  the 
same.  I  want  you  to  try  and  remember  this,  because 


302  Country  Housewives. 

else  I  think  many,  situated  as  you  are,  make  them 
selves  unnecessary  misery. 

Then,  again,  do  not  call  everything  city  boarders 
consider  important  "  only  a  notion."  If  you  have 
done  making  bread  because  your  folks  like  pies  bet 
ter,  try  and  understand  that  tastes  and  opinions  may 
differ  on  so  vital  a  point  of  "  vittles"  and  digestion. 
If  your  house  and  its  belongings  are  so  constructed 
that  the  decencies  of  life  are  impossible,  remember 
that  because  you  "  don't  mind  your  husband  or  the 
men  on  the  farm,"  your  lady  boarders  may,  even  at 
the  risk  of  being  called  "  fussy." 

To  sum  all  up,  there  must  be  consideration  on 
both  sides.  Still,  the  cases  are  rare  in  which  farm 
houses  can  be  the  best  boarding-places  for  city  peo 
ple.  The  ideas  of  the  two  parties  on  the  most  vital 
questions  relating  to  the  topics  I  have  touched  upon 
are  so  widely  apart,  that  assimilation  is  next  to  im 
possible.  The  country  housewife  knows  much  more 
on  many  subjects  than  her  city  boarder.  In  return, 
the  former  might  often  be  enlightened  by  the  latter, 
even  on  purely  physical  matters.  But  while  one 
side  starts  with  the  "  I'm  as  good  as  you  "  motto, 
and  the  other  feels  it  necessary  to  fence  this  feeling 
at  all  points,  the  millennium  of  peace  and  good-will 
must  of  course  be  indefinitely  postponed. 


FIRST  MORNING  IN  THE  COUNTRY. 


>EACE,  new-mown  hay,  and  a  sniff  of  the 
sea ;  I'm  content.  "  Don't  the  country  make 
you  sleepy  ?  "  asked  a  lady  of  me.  Sleepy ! 
why,  every  part  of  me  is  so  wide-awake  to  bliss,  that 
I  doubt  whether  it  were  not  a  sin  to  sleep,  lest  I 
might  lose  some  fine  note  of  Nature  the  while. 
The  music  of  the  shivering  leaves,  swelling,  then 
dying  away  so  softly;  the  exquisite  trill  of  some 
little  bird  near  my  window ;  the  march  of  the 
waves  to  the  shore ;  the  soft  lights  and  shadows  011 
the  far  hills ;  the  happy  laugh  of  the  little  brown 
children  in  the  hay !  I'm  afraid  I  shall  quite  forget 
"  female  suffrage  "  here !  The  whirl  out  of  which 
I  have  emerged  into  this  temporary  heaven  seems 
like  a  horrid  nightmare,  from  which  I  have  been 
roused  to  find  myself  encircled  in  loving  arms,  and 
looked  down  upon  by  a  smiling  face.  I  dare  say 
omnibusses  are  still  thundering  down  Broadway, 
and  piles  of  stone,  and  chaos  generally,  reign 
therein ;  but  I  can  scarce  conceive  it  in  this  sweet 
hush  and  prayer  of  Nature. 

I  have  no  doubt  doctors  may  still  be  found  there, 
giving  nauseous  pills  by  the  pound,  and  awful 
"mixtures"  by  the  quart,  when  all  their  deluded 


304      first  Morning  in  the  Country. 

patients  want  is  hay — and  fresh  milk.  And  I  sup 
pose  ministers  are  there,  preaching  about  "  hell," 
and  I  don't  wonder  at  it ;  but  if  they  came  here,  I 
think  heaven  would  come  more  naturally  to  their 
lips.  But  where  is  "  here "  ?  you  ask.  As  if  I 
should  tell  you  !  I  shall  want  all  the  fresh  air  for 
myself.  I  need  a  great  deal  of  breath,  and  the 
world  is  wide.  The  Great  Artist  too  decorates  it 
all  over ;  so  that  in  every  spot  lovely  flowers  shall 
be  tinted  all  the  same,  though  you  may  never  chance 
to  light  upon  them;  and  the  clouds  shall  be 
heavenly  blue ;  and  the  giant  trees  shall  spread 
their  sheltering,  graceful  arms,  though  you  may 
never  happen  to  lie  on  the  grass  beneath ;  and  the 
birds  in  their  branches  will  have  as  much  melody 
in  their  throats  as  if  you  had  promised  to  come  and 
listen.  So,  you  see,  I  may  be  stingy  of  my  little 
paradise,  and  not  defraud  you  either ! 

It  is  often  very  oppressive  to  me,  the  sight  of  so 
much  beauty,  the  sound  of  so  much  harmony,  that 
none  but  God  perhaps'may  ever  hear  or  see.  Noth 
ing  expresses  Omnipotence  so  well  to  me  as  this : 
the  perfect  finish  of  every  leaf  and  blade  ;  nothing 
left  unworkmanlike;  even  the  old  rocks  coated 
with  soft  moss — even  the  decayed  tree-trunk 
wreathed  with  a  graceful  vine.  I  know  there  are 
good,  lovely  Quakers,  but  God  is  no  Quaker.  The 
red  wild  roses  from  yonder  hedge,  advertising  their 
presence  with  wafts  of  incense  on  every  passing 
breeze,  make  that  fact  patent.  The  richness  of  the 
red  clover  and  yellow  buttercups,  and  the  myriad 


First  Morning  in  the  Country.      305 

rainbow  hues  on  every  field  and  hedge-row,  are 
anti-Quaker.  So  that,  good  as  they  are,  I'm  glad 
they  didn't  make  this  world.  I'm  sure  that  glorious 
red  and  yellow  oriole  looks  better  on  yonder  branch 
than  would  a  drab  bird.  I  like  his  saucy  little 
ways,  too.  But  there's  one  thing  for  which  I  will 
always  shake  hands  with  all  Quakerdom :  they 
allow  their  women  to  speak  in  "  meetirf  !  "  Noth 
ing  hurts  a  woman  like  shutting  down  the  escape- 
valves  of  talk ;  but  men  never  learn  that  until  they 
find  them  getting  dangerous,  and  then,  when  a 
terrible  explosion  comes  off,  they  wonder  "wharfs 
got  into  'em  !  " 


A  HINT  TO  GENTLEMEN  CRITICS. — It  is  a  pity  men 
don't  praise  women  when  they  are  sensible  in  dress. 
Now,  notwithstanding  the  pressure  which  fashion 
has  brought  to  bear  upon  them  to  return  to  the  long 
trailing  skirts  for  street  wear,  they  have  courageously 
resisted  it,  and  sensibly  insisted  upon  the  comfort 
able,  cleanly,  short  walking  skirt  for  the  street ;  and 
yet  men  keep  on  growling  all  the  same  about  minor 
matters  of  no  consequence ;  so  that  women  may 
well  exclaim,  "  There's  no  suiting  them ;  so  we  will 
just  please  ourselves."  A  word  to  the  wise  is  suffi 
cient. 

20 


CONSCIENCE  KILLING. 


>EOPLE  seem  to  think  that  there  is  but  one 
form  of  self-denial ;  and  that  is  the  "  No  " 
form.  Now  we  maintain  that  great  self- 
denial  is  often  put  forth,  and  intense  mental  pain 
incurred,  in  the  "  Yes "  form ;  i.e.,  the  gradual 
acceptance  of  wrong-doing.  Conscience  killing  is  a 
slow,  torturing  process,  and  the  successful  muffling 
of  the  protesting  voice  of  one's  better  nature  is  at 
the  expense  of  days  and  nights  of  misery.  The  son, 
whose  every  perverse  step  away  from  a  loving  home 
is  on  his  mother's  heart-strings,  cannot  at  first  plant 
them  firmly ;  many  a  backward  glance,  many  a  sigh 
and  tear,  many  a  half -retraced  foot-track  marks  his 
downward  progress.  Is  there  no  self-denial  in  these 
abortive  attempts?  Can  he  forget  at  once  all  her 
pure  aspirations  and  fond  hopes  for  her  boy  ?  Are 
there  not  kind  words,  more  dreadful  to  remember 
than  would  be  the  bitterest  curses  ?  Can  he  turn 
any  way,  in  which  proofs  of  her  all-enduring  love 
do  not  confront  him,  and  shame  him,  and  sting  him 
into  acutest  misery  ?  Again,  can  the  husband  and 
father,  who  screens  himself  behind  the  love  of 
wife  and  children,  to  perpetrate  acts,  the  constant 
repetition  of  which  wears  away  their  hope  and  life 
in  the  process — can  he,  while  saying  "  yes  "  to  the 


Conscience  Killing.  307 

fiends  who  beckon  him  on,  be  deaf  to  the  despairing 
sighs  that  follow  him,  and  blind  to  the  wrecks  of 
broken  promises  that  lie  thickly  strewn  around  him  ? 
Does  he  suffer  nothing  in  the  attempt  to  extinguish 
all  that  is  best  and  noblest  in  him  ?  can  the  mother, 
who,  stifling  the  voice  of  nature,  perjures  her 
daughter,  for  ambition,  at  the  altar,  face  calmly 
that  daughter's  future  ?  Are  there  no  misgivings, 
no  terrible  fears,  no  shrinking  back  at  the  last  re 
trieving  moment,  from  a  responsibility  so  dreadful  ? 
Can  she  kiss  her  away  from  her  own  threshold,  and 
forget  the  little  trusting  eyes  of  her  babyhood,  and 
the  clinging  clasp  of  her  fingers,  and  the  Heaven 
sent  thrill  of  happiness  when  she  first  pillowed  that 
little  head  upon  her  bosom  ?  Can  she  ever  cut  the 
cord,  strive  as  she  may,  by  which  the  Almighty  has 
solemnly  bound  her  to  that  child  for  this  world  and 
for  eternity  ?  lias  it  cost  her  nothing  in  the  process, 
this  denial  of  her  better  nature  ?  And  so,  through 

'  o 

all  the  relations  of  society,  wherever  a  sacred  trust 
is  abused,  and  a  confidence  outraged,  and  obligations 
rent  recklessly  asunder,  there  this  self-incurred 
species  of  suffering,  in  a  greater  or  less  degree, 
exists  accordingly  as  the  moral  sensibilities  are 
blunted,  or  the  contrary.  The  Almighty  has  not  or 
dained  that  this  path  shall  be  trodden  thornless. 
Coiled  in  it  is  many  a  deadly  serpent ;  the  balmiest 
air  it  knows  is  surely  death-laden.  Following  its 
tortuous  windings  to  the  close,  its  devotee  comes  to 
no  refuge,  when  his  heart  and  soul  grow  faint,  and 
he  casts  a  backward,  yearning  glance  for  the  holy 
"  long  ago." 


THE  CRY  OF  A    VICTIM. 


'HEBE'S  eight  dollars  gone!  If  I  thought 
it  was  the  last  time  I  should  be  cheated,  I 
shouldn't  mind  it ;  but  I  know  it  isn't.  In 
this  case  it  was  friendless  eighteen— -female  eighteen 
— sole  support  of  widowed  mother  and  an  indefinite 
number  of  small  children,  and  all  that ;  got  her 
money,  and  turned  out  a  humbug.  I  hope  the  re 
cording  angel  will  remember  that  in  my  favor. 
Not  to  speak  of  the  man  who  rushed  into  the  area 
to  tell  me  that  he  had  just  had  a  baby — I  mean  that 
his  wife  had — and  that  they  needed  everything ; 
when  I  immediately  scooped  up  an  armful  of  what 
soever  I  could  find  ;  and,  thanking  me  with  grateful 
tears,  he  hastened  to  pawn  them  for  rum.  Then 
there  was  the  gifted  but  unfortunate  artist,  who  had 
been  sketching  at  the  White  Mountains  and  wished 
me  to  "  lend  him  "  a  greenback  to  carry  him  home, 
because  he  had  read  my  books,  and  because  he 
wanted  it,  and  because  there  was  not  another  person 
in  the  world  of  whom  he  could  possibly  ask  such  a 
favor ;  oh,  no !  Then  there  was  the  man  who 
looked  like  the  ten  commandments  on  legs,  and 
must  see  me,  if  only  a  few  moments ;  whose  sepul 
chral  errand  turned  out  to  be  a  desire  to  sell  me 


The  Cry  of  a  Victim.  309 

some  Furniture  Polish,  which  I  bought  to  get  rid  of 
him,  and  which,  when  uncorked  a  few  days  after, 
caused  the  family  to  rush  into  the  street  with 
out  the  usual  ceremonial  hat  and  bonnet.  Then 
there  was  the  interesting  child  whom  I  brought  in 
to  feed  and  warm,  who  helped  himself  to  several 
things  without  leave  while  I  was  looking  for  others. 
And  there  was  the  old  gentleman  who  sent  me  an 
illegible  MS.  story  to  read  and  get  published  ;  whose 
i's  I  dotted,  and  whose  t's  I  crossed,  and  for  whom 
I  furnished  commas  and  semicolons  and  periods 
ad  libitum ;  whose  grammar  I  touched  up,  and 
whose  capital  letters  in  the  wrong  place  I  extin 
guished  ;  and  who  abused  me  like  a  pickpocket  be 
cause  the  Editor  to  whom  I  sent  it  thought  that 
Dickens  or  Thackeray  wrote  quite  as  well  as  he. 
Then  there  was  the  young  man  with  a  widowed 
mother,  for  whom  I  wore  out  several  pairs  of  boots 
"  getting  him  a  situation  ;  "  who  used  to  lie  in  bed 
till  noon,  and  go  to  it  when  it  didn't  rain,  and  spend 
all  he  earned  in  cherry-colored  cravats. 

Now,  I'm  going  to  stiffen  myself  up  against  all 
this  sort  of  thing  in  future.  I've  done  giving  pen 
nies  to  the  little  street-sweepers  to  buy  cream-tarts 
with.  I  hand  no  more  hot  buckwheat  cakes  through 
the  grating  of  my  basement  window  to  red-nosed 
little  boys  with  ventilator  trousers.  I  buy  no  more 
pounds  of  lucifer  matches  from  frowsy-headed 
women  at  the  area  door,  or  "  Windsor  soap "  for 
sweet  charity's  sake,  knowing  it  to  be  only  common 
brown,  with  a  counterfeit  label.  I  shall  turn  sternly 


310  Tlie  Cry  of  a  Victim. 

away  from  the  Liliputian  venders  of  flimsy  boot- 
lacings  and  headless  shawl-pins.  I  wish  it  distinctly 
understood  that  I  have  no  use  for  corset-lacings,  or 
home-made  pomatum,  or  questionable  "Lubin"  per 
fumes  in  fancy  bottles. 

I'have  looked  upon  the  humanitarian  side  of  the 
question  till  I  don't  know  whether  to  be  most  dis 
gusted  at  my  own  credulity,  or  the  perfidy  of  my 
fellow-creatures.  Now  let  somebody  else  take  .a 
turn  at  it. 


A  HINT  TO  OKGAN-GRINDEES. — it  is  a  curious 
fact  that  organ-grinders  prefer  to  select  for  their 
purpose  that  house  whose  windows  are  ornamented 
with  statues  or  flowers.  There  is  philosophy  in 
this ;  since  the  lady  who  is  fond  of  beauty  and  of 
sweet  perfumes,  is  also  fond  of  music.  And  though 
some  of  our  street  strains  are  sufficiently  wheezy 
and  harrowing,  yet  much  of  it  also  is  sweet  and 
soothing,  and  suggestive  of  past  luxurious  evenings, 
and  of  happy  faces,  and  of  hours  that  flew  all  too 
swiftly.  But  alas !  for  the  uplifted  pen,  with  its 
suspended  drop  of  ink,  at  such  moments !  Alas  ! 
for  the  printer's  devil  wadting  on  one  leg  in  the  hall ! 
Why  won't  organ-grinders  learn  where  scribblers 
abide? 


STONES  FOE  BREAD. 


>ME  of  our  papers  publish,  the  latter  part  of 
every  week — and  a  very  good  custom  it  is — 
a  list  of  different  preachers,  their  places  of 
worship,  and  the  topics  selected  for  the  ensuing 
Sunday.  We  often  read  over  this  list  with  cu 
riosity  and  interest,  and  lay  it  down  with  a  sad 
wonder  at  some  of  the  topics  selected  for  the  ser 
mons.  We  sometimes  say,  why  don't  they  preach 
about  something  that  will  come  home  to  the  worn, 
weary,  tried  heart — vexed  enough  already  with  its 
life-burthens — instead  of  entangling  it  in  theolog 
ical  nets,  till  the  blessed  voice  that  says  so  sweetly, 
"  Come  unto  Me,"  never  reaches  the  perplexed  ear  ? 
We  say  this  in  no  spirit  of  fault-finding,  or  dicta 
tion,  but  because  we  are  sure  that  hungry  souls, 
who  every  Sunday  beg  for  bread,  receive  only  a 
stone ;  and  go  away  to  take  up  their  daily  burden 
again  on  Monday,  with  faltering,  hopeless  step, 
when  they  might  and  should  march — singing  the 
song  of  triumph  ! 

If  a  mother  weeps  over  her  lost  babe,  if  a  wife 
mourns  her  husband,  or  a  father  bends  over  a  dead 
son,  whom  he  thought  would  live  to  close  his  aged 
eyes,  do  you  choose  that  time  to  distress  them  with 
abstract  questions  and  transcendental  theories? 


312  Stones  for  Bread. 

No — you  see  before  you  an  aching,  tried  heart ; 
and  you  yearn  with  all  your  sympathetic  nature  to 
comfort  it.  Your  words  are  few  but  earnest,  and 
full  of  love.  You  go  softly  with  them  and  look  at 
the  dear,  dead  face,  which  perhaps  you  never  saw 
living,  and  say  with  quivering  lips,  "  God  help  you, 
my  friend."  Just  so,  we  long  sometimes  to  have 
clergymen  look  at  the  dead  faces  of  men's  lost  joys 
and  hopes,  and  pity  the  bereaved,  lonely  hearts  that 
want  something  to  lean  upon  besides  cold,  dull  ab 
stractions  ;  that  yearn  for  the  warm,  beating,  pulsa 
ting  heart  of  Infinite  Love,  and  yet  cannot  find  it. 
Oh !  what  mission  on  earth  as  blessed  as  to  teach 
them  where  and  how  ? 

"  Come  unto  Me"  These  words,  thousands  of 
years  old,  and  yet  never  worn  out !  "  Come  unto 
Me."  Oh,  shake  off  the  dust  of  your  libraries,  and 
say,  as  He  said  it,  "  Come  unto  Me ! " 


THE  END. 


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•  2-month  loans  may  be  renewed  by  calling 
(510)642-6753 

•  1-year  loans  may  be  recharged  by  bringing 
books  to  NRLF 

•  Renewals  and  recharges  may  be  made 
4  days  prior  to  due  date 

DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 

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M1749G1 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


